


Death of the Author

by HappilyShanghaied



Series: Literary Works [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: BAMF Betty Cooper, Betty Cooper POV, Betty is from Greendale, Breathplay, Choking, Demiromantic Jughead Jones, Edgeplay, FBI AU, FBI Agent Betty Cooper, Face-Fucking, Juggie has an aftercare kink!, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Mystery, Slow Burn, Soft!Dom Juggie, Spanking, Switch Betty, The Darkness is not just a mid-00’s band, all consensual and safe, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 64,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappilyShanghaied/pseuds/HappilyShanghaied
Summary: Somebody is trying to murder best-selling crime author Jughead Jones. Between those in the underworld his father once crossed, Jug's childhood history with the Serpents and the people whose lives and reputations were ruined by his book, the list of suspects who would like to see him dead is as long as it is strange. Now in protective custody, the one person standing between Jughead and his would-be assassin is Special Agent Betty Cooper, a woman he shares a complicated past with.*****“It’s okay, Cooper, I know I don’t have the most delicate touch when it comes to matters of the heart.” He looked her directly in the eye, his Adam’s Apple dipping as he swallowed hard. “And, sometimes, by the time I do think of the right thing to say it’s already too late to make things right."The air grew heavy between them and Betty frowned at him alluding to their past. She wondered why he insisted on touching old bruises when she could barely acknowledge that they were there. Was he just trying to assuage his own guilt or was there something more behind this?Maybe if she held out an olive branch he’d stop and they could go back to not talking about it again? “It’s not too late to make things right, Juggie.”





	1. The calm before the storm

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Bughead fic (I also write for Veronica Mars, etc), so I'm excited to dig in. It's completely unbeta'd, so please read with forgiving eyes.
> 
> Check out the amazing [Aesthetic](https://theheavycrown.tumblr.com/post/172773360718/death-of-the-author) made for this fic by theheavycrown!

Betty glanced up at the sky, which had suddenly turned the color of dried moss, and prayed the dry weather would hold out a little longer, but with the way her luck had been going that morning she figured that was a bit of a pipe dream. Her hand tensed as scalding hot coffee sloshed out of her to-go cup’s sip hole onto her fingers and she threw it on the ground with a curse, taking a minute to wipe her hands clean on a spare tissue from her pocket.

 

Though it nearly killed her to litter, she couldn’t slow down, she was already running late for her first day on a new assignment. Her morning – plagued by a malfunctioning alarm, low water pressure and mascara-stained, favorite blouse – was so utterly disastrous it could have been filmed for a prank show. If a miracle occurred and she somehow made it to the designated location without getting lost or rained on, she’d count it as a win.

 

Waze led her into a cul-de-sac at the edge of the woods surrounding Sweetwater River, forcing her to abandon her car on the shoulder of the road and travel the rest of the way by foot. A nearby dirt path seemed to be the only possible point of entry to the house she was looking for and not for the first time, she wondered what kind of man would choose to isolate himself like this.

 

 _A man who has survived two assassination attempts_ , her mind quickly supplied.

 

After hiking for 20 minutes without seeing any signs of human life, a knot began to form in the center of betty’s stomach. Betty scrolled through Google maps on her phone one more time, then turned in a circle, assuming there had to have been another path she’d somehow missed. As a cloud passed overhead and the sky grew even darker, Betty groaned at her predicament. _Could this day get any worse?_

 

A bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, spidering into a latticework of light, providing Betty with her answer, and she took a deep, yoga breath to center herself. Weakness was absolutely the last impression she wanted to give to the person she was being sent to protect. It was hard enough being taken seriously in the bureau between her age and the way she looked – she still hadn’t shaken the nickname, ‘Agent Barbie’, from her Quantico days – so showing up in tears wasn’t exactly going to earn her any street cred.

 

Fat drops of rain began to fall in sheets, soaking Betty’s clothes, and she finally gave into the urge to scream in frustration.

 

“The last time I heard a noise like that, there was a full bottle of tequila and a hunting knife involved.” The blurry figure of a man dressed in black appeared seemingly out of nowhere, carrying an umbrella. “So…are you friend or foe?”

 

She stared at him for a moment through the translucent downpour of rain, vaguely alarmed by his sudden appearance. “If this is how you greet a potential killer, Mr. Jones, I’m not surprised the feds put you in protective custody.”

 

She heard a faint chuckle as he gestured to his umbrella. “Don’t I get credit for bringing a weapon?”

 

Though her clothes were already a lost cause, she instinctively straightened her blazer to look more professional. “The fact that you believe a $4 throwaway from Walgreens is a viable weapon—“

 

“I’ve been told anything can be a weapon if you use it the right way—or wrong way, I guess.” He extended his hand to her. “I’m happy to share the protection of my weapon if you’d like to avoid catching pneumonia...assuming you’re Special Agent Betty Cooper and this isn’t some new way of luring me in for the kill.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones.” Betty extended her hand to shake his, but he instead used her hand to pull her under the umbrella.

 

Without warning, one arm snaked itself around her waist and hauled her against his side. “We can do formal introductions later.”

 

His long legs took wide strides across the rugged terrain and she struggled to keep up. Sensing her lag, he held her even closer and she tried to will the flush of humiliation from her cheeks. A modernist cabin, sleek and incongruous with the nature surrounding it, emerged into view as they rounded a cluster of weeping willows.

 

He continued to hold her waist, dragging more than guiding her up a short staircase leading to a covered porch, then unceremoniously released her. He tossed the now-bent umbrella carelessly to the side and shook the water from his coat like a dog, his mop of black hair swinging wildly into his face.

 

No longer sharing the man’s body heat, Betty’s teeth began to chatter as she squeezed the water from her ponytail onto the ground.

 

The man turned his back to her and pulled off his wet boots, leaving them on the welcome mat, then yanked opened his unlocked front door. “I’d apologize for living somewhere inconvenient, but I kind of love it so I won’t.”

 

“Somebody is trying to kill you and you don’t even lock your front door?” Betty bent down to pull off her now ruined shoes and shook her head, mystified. “I see I have my work cut out for me.”

 

With an arm extended behind him, he held the door open for her, motioning for her to come inside. “If somebody wants to kill me badly enough, I highly doubt they'd turn back at the first locked door.”

 

She had to admit he had a good point. Still, only somebody reckless with their own safety would be this careless. She frowned, now realizing this assignment would be harder than she initially assumed.

 

“Humor me,” Betty demanded, turning around to flick the deadbolt on the door herself. “If somebody tries to break in, those extra few minutes they spend picking your lock might be the difference between me getting to my gun in time or not.”

 

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and continued walking through the main hall toward the living room fireplace, the short gesture calling attention to the wet material of his t-shirt pulling across a pair of well-built shoulders.

 

His damp back reminded her she’d left her suitcase in the trunk of her car and she inwardly groaned. “Do you have a working umbrella I can borrow? I left my bag in the trunk of my car. I think I may literally go insane if I don’t get a change of clothes soon.”

 

 _“Literally?”_ He said, not bothering to look at her as he added another log to the fireplace in the center of the room.

 

Betty dug her hands deep into her waist as she looked down at the puddle surrounding her bare feet. “Yes, Literally.”

 

The man’s shoulders shook lightly as he chuckled to himself. “Well, we can’t have that.” He picked up a sharp poker and meticulously stoked the fire until it reached a dull roar.

 

“Great—“

 

“—But, we also can’t have you catching pneumonia. The fire should keep you warm enough while I scrounge up some dry clothes that will fit you. We can get your bag in the morning.” Without waiting for a response, he started down the hallway toward what Betty assumed was his bedroom.

 

Betty looked at the empty space where he was just standing, mouth agape, and exhaled her through her nose in irritation. This man was a jumble of inconsistencies. She’d been in his house for five minutes now and he’d yet to turn and greet her, something Alice Cooper would have a lot to say about. However, he did come out in a storm to look for her and was kind enough to offer her the clothes off his back. Also, there was something about him that felt familiar.

 

Good or bad, Betty supposed she didn’t have to like him, she just had to keep him alive.

 

“I’d really appreciate that, thank you.” She called out to his retreating form, before perching on the edge of the wide slate mantelpiece and sinking into its warmth.

 

He stopped for a moment, like he was pondering a response, then swiftly turned a corner and disappeared out of sight without saying a word.

 

Betty held her hands over the radiant heat and took in her surroundings. The cabin (if it could even be called that), was a mostly open plan, save for a few bedrooms and – she assumed – a bathroom or two. Her eyes flitted around the room, mentally cataloging any vulnerable points of entry. The back wall, which offered an unobstructed view of the river flowing behind the cabin was entirely comprised of sliding glass doors. She detected a rear door near the kitchen area, which she was willing to bet was also unlocked. Looking up, she noticed that the vaulted roof was peppered with skylights. This house was, she determined, a total deathtrap.

 

Now wearing a pair of faded jeans, an open flannel over a grey t-shirt with the letter ‘S’ on the front, and a grey woolen beanie pulled over his hair, F.P. Jones emerged from the hallway carrying a threadbare t-shirt and a pair of scrubs pants, which he awkwardly thrust toward Betty. “I know giving somebody scrubs is kind of…weird? And, you’re probably wondering why I even have them in the first place, but I figured, you know, the drawstring might be – uh, helpful?”

 

He kept his eyes on the floor and exhaled a shaky breath, waiting for her to accept the offering.

 

During all the tumult, Betty hadn’t really had the chance to get a good look at the man, and now that she had she felt the wind leave her chest. Something about him had felt familiar and she could’ve sworn she’d heard that voice some place before, but between the rain and his constant running off, she hadn’t seen his face. This was the first time she had been able to really check him out. Even without seeing what he looked like, she would have recognized that hat anywhere.

 

Betty gasped in epiphany and pointed at the man. “It’s you.”


	2. My life is an open book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful response so far to the first chapter! I appreciate all of the feedback and kudos. 
> 
> And now...another unbeta'd chapter.

At first, the man didn’t react, almost as if he hadn’t heard Betty, then his frame sagged in defeat and he started fidgeting anxiously with the edge of his shirt. “Yeah, about that—“

 

That nervous tic brought back an avalanche of memories, not all of them good. “You’re Jughead! Archie’s best man from the wedding.”

 

Betty’s best friend, Veronica, had married a boy from Riverdale three years ago. It was during Betty’s final term at Quantico when she was training to pass her field test, so – like everything else during those last few months – the blessed event was a bit of a blur.

 

“I’m surprised you remember me.” Jughead’s gaze remained firmly at his feet, but a knowing smile tugged at his lips.

 

“Your name is _Jughead_. That’s not something so easily forgotten,” Betty snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. Not remember him? Was that sarcasm? Knowing him, it probably was. She didn’t believe in coincidences, not after everything she’d seen in her life. If it weren’t for the job, she might have braved the storm to avoid all of this. “I was told I’d be watching a man called F. P.  Jones. Is that a pen name?”

 

“No, that’s real, unfortunately. Forsythe Pendleton Jones." His eyes flicked up to hers, and she was momentarily struck by how clear and blue they were. "My grandfather was the first F.P., then passed it along to my dad, who for some ungodly reason felt this name deserved to be preserved in amber. Obviously, I don’t use it in my normal life, but you know, my publishers were fairly insistent that the literary world would not take a guy named ‘Jughead’ seriously as a crime writer, so... ”

 

Betty nodded, still reeling from the new information. “This wasn’t a coincidence, was it?” she asked, motioning between them.

 

The guilty look on his face conveyed everything she needed to know.

 

“No. But, I’m not a stalker or anything!” He quickly added, pressing his hand to his chest in emphasis.

 

“Isn’t that exactly what a stalker might say?” Her fingers instinctively curled up, crushing the garments he’d given her in her fists. “I’m going to need some answers and I should also remind you that I carry a gun.”

 

“I can explain. I swear.” Jughead raised his hands in a mea culpa.

 

“You have three minutes,” she warned, the clothes now a wrinkled mess in her hands.

 

He cleared his throat twice before speaking. “When the first attempt on my life happened and the feds stepped in to investigate the case, I had initially refused protection. I don’t like… _people_ ,” he said, with a grimace, “particularly cops, and I sure as hell don’t trust them. But, after I got shot during the second attempt, Archie basically threatened to kill me himself if I didn’t agree to protective custody.”

 

The moment Veronica introduced Betty to Archie, they’d gotten along like old friends. His affable, open demeanor was so like her own – something Veronica often joked Sigmund Freud would probably find endlessly interesting – but it was the way Archie consistently shielded Veronica from her manipulative parents that had earned him Betty’s eternal admiration.

 

“Sounds like something Archie Andrews might do.” Betty decided this part of the story sounded legitimate and tipped her chin up, signaling for him to continue.

 

“I still wasn’t going to go for it, but then Arch reminded me you were an agent and I thought, ‘Maybe it wouldn’t that awful having somebody living in my home if they were you?’.” His eyes grew comically wide at the unintended romantic implication. “So, it actually wasn’t my goal to sound like a character in a bad Nicholas Sparks novel, but here we are.”

 

She couldn’t help but laugh, dispelling some of the tension in the room. “Calling a Nicholas Sparks novel bad is a bit redundant, don't you think?”

 

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” he said, echoing her smile. “Anyway, like I said earlier, I’m not a stalker. If I were, I wouldn’t have waited three years to make a play. I mean, not to be creepy, but I’m confident I’d be better at stalking you than whatever this is.”

 

Betty remembered Jughead vividly. He’d left his mark on her in more than one way. They’d met at the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding and clicked soon after. She’d been mildly shocked at first that a guy as droll and sardonic as Jughead would be devoted to a man like Archie, who was essentially a cut-rate Steve Rogers with nicer hair.

 

But as she’d gotten to know Jughead over the course of the wedding weekend she realized there was far more to him than her first impression suggested. Yes, he continued to be rather paranoid and quick to temper, but he was also a good listener, funny, and oddly intuitive. And handsome in a way that wasn’t immediately obvious. Of course, everybody seemed great once the bottom of a whiskey bottle had been reached, and a splash of booze was all it took to temper the sharp edges of her memories into soothing watercolors...until the hangover came.

 

He brushed his fingertips along the edge of his beanie, tucking in a lock of hair that had fallen astray, and her eyes followed the motion.

 

Part of her wished their fleeting connection didn’t present such a clear conflict of interest, but he was the job and a lot more than that. The world was a far more interesting place with Jughead Jones in it. And much like Jughead, she had a hard time trusting people to watch her back, she’d been let down too many times by those who had sworn to protect her. It was understandable he’d rather be shielded by a person he knew. Even if it was her.

 

“Betty,” Jughead pursed his lips, expression genuinely contrite, “I’m really sorry I wasn’t upfront with you from the beginning...about a lot of things, actually. I didn’t mean to make things difficult or—or awkward for you.” His gaze locked onto hers, begging to be forgiven.

 

A shiver ran through Betty’s frame, reminding her that she was cold and still extremely waterlogged. She abruptly pulled the hairband from her ponytail - the rubber ripping a few wet strands of hair out by their roots - and winced. “I need somewhere to change.”

 

Clearly thrown by the sudden shift in topic. Jughead’s forehead creased but he rebounded rapidly. “Yes. Sure. I’ll show you to your room.”

 

* * *

 

Betty quickly stripped, shimmying her damp underwear down her legs until they dropped to the wooden floor with an embarrassing squelch. Her day had been a disaster since she first woke up, and the only thing that really surprised her at this point was that she was still capable of being surprised. Jughead’s appearance had her totally caught off guard, and she was not a fan of curveballs. Regardless of the sympathy she felt for him, she would have to change her assignment, it would be unprofessional for her to do anything else. She also hadn’t been sure if she would ever be ready to see him again—this wouldn’t be easy for her.

 

After donning the dry clothes Jughead provided and strapping her sidearm over a t-shirt with the phrase _Montauk is for Lovers_  scrawled across the chest, she exited the room and took her same spot on the mantle next to the fire. “I hope you don’t mind I hung up my clothes in the wardrobe to dry.”

 

Jughead shook his head and handed her a mug of hot tea, then sat down beside her.

 

“Thank you.” She offered him a smile and drank deeply from the mug until she noticed the telltale burn of liquor winding through her esophagus.  “Did you put whiskey in here?”

 

He looked a bit lost, even more so than earlier. “It’s a Hot Toddy. I remembered…from after the wedding, you seemed to like them.”

 

* * *

_Jughead toyed with the ends of Betty’s hair as they warmed themselves next to the hotel’s outdoor firepit. Their friends had already been married several hours now, but Betty wasn’t ready for the night to end, she wasn't eager to get back to her real life quite just yet. This was how she ended up sipping warm whiskey in the middle of the night with a man most of the guests at the reception avoided like the plague._

 

_“Now, you—you would have made the best criminal case study,” Betty slurred, passing him her mug. “I could’ve done my entire master’s thesis about your family.”_

_He huffed out a laugh at her unflattering assessment of him, then gently tugged the lock of blonde hair he’d wound around his finger. “I’m probably not as offended by that as I should be.”_

_“It wasn’t an insult,” she insisted, stealing another sip from the mug he now held. “Your upbringing…the anger you must’ve felt…most people would’ve burned the entire world down.”_

_“I did, actually.” He leaned his head back to gaze at the stars, the orange firelight casting a glow against his skin. “Or tried, at least. I was caught by the janitor trying to flick lit matches at my middle school gym, but the ground was too wet. It took time to cultivate this level of not giving a shit.”_

_“I think,” She leaned into his personal space, resting her hand on his thigh for support. “If I’d had your life, I wouldn’t have stopped until everything around me turned to ashes.”_

_His mouth fell slack and he picked his head up, fingers in her hair forgotten as he searched Betty’s face for evidence of something she didn’t want to think about. A small part of her felt self-conscious, being observed by him like a bug under glass, but the rest of her wanted him to see, wanted somebody to know what she really was, even if it were somebody she’d probably never meet again._

_Whatever assessment Jughead had made about her prompted a sly grin. “You have everybody here fooled, don’t you, Betty Cooper? From the outside – to the proletariat – you’re all bake sales and ‘Pretty in Pink’. But, deep down, in the places you won’t let see the light of day, you’re just gothic angst and ‘Blue Velvet’.”_

_“Funny,” she said, edging a little closer, releasing the bottom lip she’d been worrying between her teeth. “I was just thinking the exact opposite about you.”_

_Jughead glanced down at her, amused, their faces now only inches apart. “It’s probably just the booze making me seem nicer than I am.” He lifted the mug to his mouth again as if to demonstrate, and swallowed loudly._

_“Juggie,” she whispered, bringing her lips next to his ear. “We both know that’s bullshit.”_

* * *

“Jesus.” Jughead scratched his forehead and sighed. “I can’t even seem to get a drink order right tonight.”

 

“I – no, Juggie,” Betty said, the nickname slipping out before she could stop herself, “I can’t drink alcohol when I’m on duty.”

 

“Right. Right.” He rolled his eyes in self-admonishment. “It’s not like I’ve written several unpublished crime novels and should’ve known better.”

 

“Stop.” Betty placed her mug on the mantle beside her and tentatively rested her fingertips on Jughead’s forearm. “I’m here to protect you, you don’t have to play host.”

 

His hand rose to cover hers, the heat of his palm warming her icy skin as his fingers brushed over her knuckles. “Are you suffering from hypothermia? I feel like I’m holding hands with Elsa the Snow Queen.”

 

“Sorry.” Betty pulled her hand back, embarrassed.

 

Jughead reached out in earnest to retrieve it but was too slow. “Betty, you didn’t have to—“

 

“I shouldn’t be touching you like that. It’s beyond inappropriate.” She stood up, unsure of where she wanted to go. “All of this is inappropriate.”

 

“All of what?” He asked her, cautiously, standing up to meet her.

 

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want to keep you safe, but there is a conflict of interest.”

 

He tilted his head to the side, like a confused puppy. “How?”

 

“You _know_ how.” She leveled him with a look. “And besides, even if we hadn’t met at the wedding, we share mutual friends so we are tangentially associated. The FBI frowns on stuff like that. It would be the same as if a doctor were operating on a person they knew.”

 

“I met you at a wedding three years ago! Veronica’s parents practically invited all of Manhattan, like it was some colonial-era Indian wedding. You were one of hundreds of people I met that night.” He downed the rest of his tea in one go and placed his mug next to hers. “Anyway, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

 

“You’re expecting me to keep a secret from the FBI?” She shook her head, bewildered by his gall. “Even if that were possible, I wouldn’t do it.”

 

“Right. Because Betty Cooper is a straight shooter.” Jughead smirked, clearly remembering her softest spots to press. “Wouldn’t want to risk messing up that perfect record to keep a friend-of-a-friend alive.”

 

“You can’t manipulate me and I don’t have to prove anything to you,” She hissed, before grabbing her mug and swallowing the entire contents while holding her breath.

 

He glanced down at her empty mug, then back up at her. “Clearly.”

 

“I should call the field office.” She pulled her mobile phone from her pants pocket. “Maybe they can send a replacement agent out this evening?”

 

“I don’t want a replacement agent.” His mouth pressed into a frustrated line. “I don’t want some random stranger - from the government of all places - living in my house, invading my space.”

 

“They’d be here trying to _prevent_ the invasion of your space, Jughead. You know, from the person trying to kill you?” After the signal on her phone failed for the third time in a row, she stifled the urge to chuck the thing into the fireplace. “Why do you have to live in the middle of nowhere? Do you have a landline I could use?”

 

Jughead looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “I’m under 40, Betty. Of course I don’t have a landline.”

 

A sharp crack of lighting overhead lit up the room, startling them both.

 

Betty sighed, rubbing her temples in a vain attempt to stave off a migraine, then reluctantly slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Fine. I’ll stay over tonight, but only because I’d prefer not to have to swim to my car. Tomorrow morning, though, I’m going to put in a request for reassignment.”

 

The weight of his disappointment nearly had Betty feeling guilty, but this was the right decision. She knew things about him, things that could make it hard for her to make objective choices if the situation got sticky.

 

Jughead paced the room, arms wrapped protectively around his waist. “I guess I should give you a tour, then?”

 

“Sure. Though honestly, I’m not sure if even an army of people could protect you as long as you insist on staying in this glass box.” She did a visual sweep of the room again and frowned at the multitude of vulnerabilities. “It’s almost like you want to be murdered.”

 

His face lit up at the ridiculous suggestion. “Maybe, I’m just looking for material for my next book?”

 

“I’ll bet you are.” Betty rolled her eyes, realizing there might be a kernel of truth to what he’d said, and angled her head toward the hallway. “Unless you’d like it to be published posthumously, I’d get this tour started.”

 

* * *

 

After doing a walk-through of the entire house, with Betty fortifying all the points of weakness along the way as best she could, Jughead ended the tour in his office, a glass-enclosed conservatory with built-in bookshelves and artfully-worn leather furniture, like something out of a British period drama. Betty thought it might be the most perfect room she’d ever laid eyes on, and if it hadn’t presented yet another easily-breachable space, she might have even suggested sleeping there.

 

Between the eerie flickering of lightning in the distance and the far-off sounds of thunder, the room was transformed from a peaceful refuge into something darker and more seductive. “Professor Jones with the candlestick in the conservatory,” Betty murmured under her breath, as she followed Jughead across the room toward his desk.

 

He turned to her, brow raised in question. “Would you believe me if I told you ‘Clue’ was half the reason I built this study?”

 

“I would, actually.” Betty walked past his desk, lightly gliding her fingers across the open keyboard of his laptop. “Can I ask you something, Jughead?”

 

He perched himself on the corner of his hand-carved, mahogany desk and gestured for her to take the chair. “Of course, you can.”

 

She sat down, folding her hands in her lap as she worked up the nerve to mention something she'd suspected about him for the last few minutes. “Will you show me your murder board?”

 

Barely reacting to the question, Jughead casually picked a piece of lint off his t-shirt. “What makes you think I have a murder board?”

 

“Don’t insult my intelligence.” Betty glanced at the corkboard secured above his desk by a string, a rainbow of plot cards pinned to it in a labyrinthine arrangement. “I assume it’s on the back of this?”

 

He stared blankly at her for a moment before an impressed smile started to form. “You’re full of surprises, Special Agent Cooper.” With one hand, he flipped the panel around, revealing a whiteboard that documented the entire timeline of his case. There was an exhaustive list of suspects, suspicious events, potential motivations, lingering questions and possible clues, all detailed and color-coded for easy reference.

 

“You’ve been busy.” A flutter of nerves began to form low in Betty’s stomach as her eyes flitted over each detail of Jughead’s complicated life. The wide breadth of possible directions to take the case, the sheer number of people who might want Jughead dead, was far worse than she'd thought it would be. Unless somebody stepped in and helped him untangle this mystery, he would surely be dead by this time next month. “I assume you haven’t turned any of this over to the feds, yet?”

 

“I wasn’t sure I could trust them,” He said, shuffling to his feet as she rose from her chair to get a closer look.

 

Betty gingerly touched an old photograph of Jughead he'd taped to the center of the board and traced the yellowed edges of the picture. The kid in this picture, the man standing next to her now, she couldn't let him die. Not after everything he'd overcome in his life to get to this point. 

 

“You can now, Jug" Betty said, nodding her head with the finality of her decision.

 

She felt the heat of his gaze on the back of her neck, and when she turned around to look at him the intensity in his eyes nearly stole her breath away. "I know."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and commenting! Would love to know what you think!


	3. A shot in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ode to a mid-80's novelty song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love and kudos! Bringing you another unbeta'd chapter! Hope there aren't too many errors.

_Betty clutched an empty glass of champagne to her chest as she watched from the perimeter of the dance floor as Archie lead Veronica in a seamlessly choreographed first dance. That Veronica could get a man to spend hours rehearsing a ballroom number wasn’t a surprise to Betty, her best friend had convinced men to do worse things to win her favor. The real surprise was the look of genuine enjoyment splashed across Archie’s face as he went through the motions._

_Betty didn’t believe in perfect matches, she’d seen enough marriages – like her parents’ – that started in earnest, break down over petty things. Something about the way her friends looked at each other, though, had her thinking hopefully…maybe…this relationship would be the one to beat the odds._

_Josie McCoy, Veronica’s other bridesmaid, tore into a smooth rendition of ‘Blue Hawaii’, casting a spell over both Betty and the other guests._

_“A person would have to find a dead hooker in my closet to blackmail me into doing something like that in public,” Jughead mumbled from directly behind Betty, startling her from her thoughts._

_“I certainly hope that’s not a formal confession,” She teased, looking over her shoulder at him with a smile. “I’ll admit I feel kind of the same, but I guess that’s why they’re married to each other and not to us.”_

_Jughead’s shoulder brushed up against hers as he slipped into the vacant spot beside her. “They look happy though, or so I assume? I really have no benchmark of my own from which to compare.”_

_Betty bit her lip to stop from laughing. “You know, Jughead, I can’t decide yet how much of this Wednesday Addams schtick is an affectation and how much of it is real.” She looked over at him expectantly, waiting for an answer._

_His lips quirked up into a lopsided smile. “I assure you, all of it is real. If you only knew my tragic origin story, it would all make sense.”_

_Despite her initial assumptions, this man was intriguing to her. At first, she’d written him off as someone destined to end up one of those old-school Brooklyn hipsters, writing angry diatribes about the scourge of gentrification to the editor of “The New Yorker” from the corner table of his favorite fair trade coffee shop. But, something about the set of his jaw when he wasn’t speaking, the things he chose to leave unsaid, had left her reconsidering everything about him. “Tell me then. I assume it involves the murder of a parent, your descent into lone wolf status and the subsequent lifelong quest to bring justice to the mean streets of [insert name of town].”_

_His spine lengthened at her joke, posture taut, jaw tightening in that way she found oddly attractive. Had she hit some sort of nerve?_

_When he finally looked over at her, she felt his eyes do an unapologetic tour of her body. “Is that what you were wearing earlier? This dress seems…shorter than I remember.”_

_He was clearly trying to change the topic. Interesting._

_“Veronica required all of her bridesmaids to do a ‘costume change’ after the ceremony?” Betty smoothed out the fitted skirt of her post-ceremony dress, desperate for a way to occupy herself as Jughead performed yet another visual sweep of her form. “And you’re avoiding my question.”_

_“Not avoiding.” Without asking, Jughead took the empty glass from her hand and dropped it on a passing tray, replacing it with a fresh one. “Just haven’t decided yet whether I feel like being the target of your next investigative story.”_

_A stone formed in the center of Betty’s stomach, as it always did whenever anybody brought up her short-lived past as a reporter. Like her parents, she had once felt a passion for bringing the unvarnished truth to the masses. But, after the personal toll she suffered during her last published story, she’d decided that she would rather bring about justice in ways that didn't leave her open to becoming part of the story._

_She took a long sip of her drink, buying time to consider her response “I didn’t know you were a fan of the ‘Greendale Herald’?”_

_“I usually find their reporting a bit reductive.”_

_“True, but most people have short attention spans.” She held her glass tensely with both hands, hoping to stave off the itch to curl her fingers into her palms._

_The music suddenly changed to an up-tempo song, luring throngs of party guests to the dance floor. As they passed by in a mad rush, one of them accidentally knocked Betty off balance._

_Jughead’s arm curled around her waist, hauling her into his side. “You okay?”_

_“Thanks.” She nodded yes, but her pinched expression had him frowning._

_“You look like you could use a little something stronger than bubbly.” He suddenly plucked the champagne glass from her hands and downed the contents himself. “Bar?”_

_“Outside bar,” she suggested, curling into his chest to avoid being knocked into again._

_“Good call.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the room, stopping momentarily to nudge the rear terrace door open with his foot._

_Once outside, Betty could finally breathe again, the bracing chill in the air helped dissipate her mounting anxiety. “I used to like being around people. I don’t know what happened.”_

_“Not me. Never did, never will.” Still pulling her by the hand, he led her to a set of chairs next to the fire pit and gestured for her to sit._

_Betty took in his outstretched hand, then stared blankly at his face. “Never?”_

_He rolled his eyes and flopped into a chair. “You’re not people.”_

_“Not sure if that was meant to be a compliment but...” she carefully lowered herself into the chair beside him, “…at this point, I’ll take it.”_

_They huddled together next to the fire in companionable silence, warming their hands against the heat of the flames. She gave him a sidelong glance, a feeling of dread sputtering in her chest like wet kindling trying to ignite. He’d mentioned her article, so clearly he already knew all about her past: the stalking, the dead girls, the phone calls…everything._

_She’d put it all out there in public, on paper, hoping the exposure would help exorcise the darkness she always felt brewing inside of her. It hadn’t, and it was then she realized nothing ever would. She may have survived the Hood - taken him down - but there were too many girls who hadn’t. And one day, another Hood would rise and other innocent girls would meet the same fate. Betty decided then if she couldn’t get rid of her own demons she would at least try to rid the world of theirs._

_She swallowed down the hard lump in her throat, trying to work up the nerve to speak. “Did you bring me out here to grill me about the Black Hood?”_

_“I already know about the Black Hood, Betty.” Jughead’s voice a little softer than usual. “Thought I was pretty clear that I’d read your work?” He nudged his shoulder against hers and signaled for the wait staff. “I was actually kind of hoping you could help me gain some new perspective on my own ‘Black Hood’, so to speak.” His eyes shifted nervously toward her and then back again._

_It was pretty much the last thing Betty was expecting him to say, and for that, she was infinitely grateful. “Jughead, are you being stalked?”_

_He erupted in laughter, clearly taken aback by the question. “Who would want to stalk me?”_

_“Then, are you saying you have knowledge of a crime?” She prodded, sounding unfortunately like the FBI agent she’d soon become. She inwardly groaned at her inability to ever be casual about anything and tried her best to reframe her question in a less aggressive way. “Does your ‘Black Hood’ have anything to do with your origin story?”_

_“Maybe…” His eyes narrowed playfully at her, the stirrings of a smirk beginning to form on his lips. “But first, how do you feel about whiskey, Ms. Cooper?” He angled his head toward the arriving waiter._

_“Actually…” She pulled the pins from her updo and shook her hair out, fingers combing out the tangles that had formed through the night. “I feel pretty damn good about it, Mr. Jones.”_

 

* * *

 

 

They’d been pouring over the details of the murder board for over three hours and still hadn’t come to any definitive conclusions on the best line of investigation to pursue. Betty had to admit she was impressed by Jughead’s due diligence, how he’d treated each lead like a separate vignette, complete with character motivations and modus operandi.

 

She rubbed the strain from her eyes with balled up fists and rested her head on the desk, trying to quell the small voice in her head that told her she didn’t deserve a break, that she was lazy, that she wasn’t living up to her commitments. 

 

Then again, Jughead was currently dozing on the couch, having slipped into a nap nearly 20 minutes ago. It was his life that was on the line. Betty decided that if he could manage to get sleep during his own attempted murder investigation then she should at least be able to rest her eyes for a moment.

 

She pressed her forehead into the smoothly lacquered mahogany and allowed herself to sink into her fatigue.

 

Not a minute later, a faint strain of music started to play, startling Betty from her thoughts. She listened closely, attempting to identify its location, but the riff soon ended.

 

A ringtone, perhaps? 

 

It certainly wasn’t hers. Even if there weren’t such spotty cell reception in the woods, the FBI’s stringent policy on personalized ringtones had limited her to the phone manufacturer’s boring settings. 

 

Betty looked over at Jughead, watched as his back and shoulders continued to rise and fall with each breath, steady as ever.

 

Maybe, he hadn’t heard it? Maybe she hadn’t either? Maybe hearing things was just another byproduct of her exhaustion?

 

The music started up again, and it was then that Betty spotted Jughead’s phone nestled in his back pocket, completely silent.

 

Betty visually checked the deadbolt on the conservatory door, she’d made sure to slide it into place before they started their research. Confirming it was still locked, she quietly reached for the gun in her arm holster and lowered herself to the floor.

 

As abruptly as it started, the song suddenly stopped.

 

Betty crawled to the couch and reached out to wake Jughead, her hand shocking him into consciousness as it made contact with his shoulder.

 

He reflexively sat up, looking confused. “Wha—?”

 

“Stay down,” Betty harshly whispered at him, pushing him flat on the couch with her free hand.

 

Instantly understanding the situation, Jughead slid from the couch to the floor next to Betty and angled his head toward the door in question.

 

She shrugged her shoulders, truly baffled, and whispered, “I heard a ringtone. I don’t have any reception and your phone is in your pocket. Unless you have another phone somewhere…”

 

He shook his head, a look of panic sweeping over his features. “What did it sound like?”

 

As if on cue, the music started up again, this time even louder and clearer.

 

_I always feel like somebody’s watching me…and I have no privacy._

_I always feel like somebody’s watching me. Who’s playing tricks on me?_

 

Jughead scrunched his nose. “Is that Rockwell?”

 

“Does it mean something to you?” Betty motioned for him to stay low to the ground. 

 

“Yeah. That Berry Gordy had enough juice in the 80’s to get Michael Jackson to agree to sing backup on his son’s novelty single.”

 

Betty inhaled through her nose, exasperated. “Do you actually want to die? Should I just let the killer know we’re in here so you can get this over with and I can go home?”

 

“Sorry.” Jughead had the decency to look contrite. “I do that when I get nervous. Gallows humor.”

 

Her face softened, silently accepting his apology. “Does this conservatory have a secret passageway to the lounge, or—?”

 

“A ‘Clue’ joke?” He groaned, obviously disappointed. “At least mine was original.”

 

“I was being completely serious. We are sitting ducks in here. If somebody tries to get in, that lock isn’t going to hold out forever, and the rest of the room,” she flung a disgusted hand toward the glass external wall and ceiling, “could be breached by a child tossing river rocks. We need backup.”

 

Jughead pulled his phone from his pocket and frowned at the lack of service. 

 

A loud thunderbolt crashed and rumbled in the distance, like the percussion section of a world-class orchestra, and the home’s power immediately cut out leaving the room in darkness. 

 

“There’s no way the storm did that, it wasn't anywhere near us,” Jughead declared, and his fingers reached out to catch her wrist. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into my mess, Betty.” His voice shook as he said her name. “I should never have—”

 

“We don’t have time for this,” she sniped, cutting him off. She couldn’t deal with his guilt right now, she needed to focus on keeping them alive. “Do you have a generator?”

 

“No,” he whispered, his breathing beginning to slow down to normal again.

 

_I always feel like somebody’s watching me…and I have no privacy._

_I always feel like somebody’s watching me. Who’s playing tricks on me?_

 

Jughead cursed under his breath, and Betty watched the silhouette of his head turn to look for the sound. “Look, if you run out that door now they probably wouldn’t even follow you. They’re obviously just here for me.”

 

“It's my job to protect you.” Part of Betty was angry he’d even think it was a possibility she could leave him there like that, but she knew she would have done the same thing had she been in his place. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get through this together.”

 

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

 

A streak of lightning lit up the room, drawing Betty’s eyes to the laptop computer sitting closed on the desk. “Your cable still works when your power is out, right?” Without waiting for an answer, she began to crawl toward the desk again.

 

Catching her drift, Jughead followed her, ripping the plug from his router as he hunched under the desk. “My modem has a backup battery.”

 

She snagged the laptop from the desktop and passed it to Jughead, who used a two-sided USB wire to plug the modem directly into the computer. “I’m going to email blast the local police stations, then phone the FBI using Skype.” Betty took the unit back and immediately sent out the email, then started up the Skype app. “We don’t even have to say anything. They can just trace us using your IP address.”

 

Jughead stilled beside her. “Uh, about that…I…”

 

She had to keep herself from screaming at him. “Let me guess, you are a paranoid conspiracy theorist who uses a cloaking program? Correct?”

 

He shrugged, conceding her point.

 

_I always feel like somebody’s watching me…and I have no privacy._

_I always feel like somebody’s watching me. Who’s playing tricks on me?_

 

The music was close now, very close. It wouldn’t be long until they were found.

 

Jughead pulled the computer from her lap and selected redial for the number at the top of his Skype contacts. 

 

After a few painfully long rings, a chipper voice answered. “Hey buddy! Oh, your screen is really dark, is your camera on?”

 

“Arch!” Jughead cut him off before his friend could start another sentence. “I’m in trouble. The bad kind.”

 

Archie practically dove for the cell phone in his front pocket. “You’re at home, right? Do you want the local police or the FBI?”

 

“Both.” He looked at Betty for confirmation and she nodded. “Start with the FBI, though.”

 

“Are they in your house? Do you know how many?” Archie appeared to have the FBI on speed dial and started to make the call. 

 

“Yes and no. In that order.” Jughead opened the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet and fumbled around in there, looking for something.

 

“Gimme a minute, okay?” Archie put the phone to his ear as he waited for somebody to answer.

 

Having found what he was looking for - a steel letter opener - Jughead pulled it from the drawer and proudly flashed it at Betty, who immediately scoffed. 

 

“What?” He said, looking deliberately at the gun in her hands. “I’m trying to provide a backup weapon.”

 

“That’ll be as effective on a trained hitman as your umbrella weapon.” She could imagine twenty ways this thing could go South if Jughead tried to play the hero. “You hide, I defend. Got it?”

 

Archie stopped mid-sentence and squinted at his screen. “Betty?”

 

_I always feel like somebody’s watching me…and I have no privacy._

_I always feel like somebody’s watching me. Who’s playing tricks on me?_

 

“Are you guys listening to Rockwell?” Archie asked, looking bewildered. 

 

Betty closed the lid on him and motioned for Jughead to hide behind the filing cabinet. Jughead vigorously shook his head, instead choosing to remain by her side while clinging tightly to his letter opener.

 

“I’m almost tempted to let them kill you,” Betty hissed, as she cocked her gun, aiming it at the door which had begun to rattle.

 

She moved toward the door, using the furniture for cover along the way, then rose to her feet and pressed her back flat against the wall next to the door jam. “FBI! The place is surrounded. Drop your weapon.”

 

The door abruptly stopped shaking and the room descended into an eerie silence. Something wasn’t right. The music…the door…it was almost as if they were trying to lure her toward that side of the room.

 

“Jug! Get down!” Betty screamed, a second too late, as a large brick shattered the conservatory ceiling sending a torrent of glass shards into the room alongside the pouring rain.

 

She ran to the desk where Jughead had been sitting and wedged herself under it, still holding her gun between shaking hands. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m okay.” He closed his eyes for a beat and took a breath, then reached out and pulled a splinter from where it had embedded in Betty’s cheek. “You’re bleeding.”

 

Her eyes shifted to him for a second, checking him for injuries. “So are you. I thought you were hiding under the desk?”

 

“I heard you scream my name. I thought…I thought you needed…” His words dropped off, as the remaining shards of glass in her skin drew his attention. “Let me help. _Please_.”

 

“Not now.” She shook her head. “This could just be phase one. You have to find cover.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” He whispered, then stubbornly proceeded to run his fingertips over her neck, plucking out each sliver of glass with the care of a mother hen. A barrage of gunfire erupted from outside the house, blending in with the latest roll of thunder. Jughead’s hand stilled against Betty’s collarbone and they looked at each other with hope. “Do you think?”

 

Betty lifted her finger, signaling for him to wait.

 

A police siren cut through the night air, instantly relaxing them both. 

 

Finally registering the weight of the gun, Betty dropped the piece to rest on her knee and exhaled a shuddering breath. “Jughead, your house…”

 

“…is a deathtrap,” He said, echoing what she’d thought to herself earlier. “My house is a death trap.”

 

The both looked at where the roof used to be and started laughing inappropriately, bodies shaking as they released the anxious tension they'd both been carrying for the last 20 minutes.

 

As their laughter slowed to a standstill, Betty was overwhelmed by the enormity of the responsibility she had taken on, her commitment to keeping Jughead alive. If anything happened to him, she would blame herself forever, just like she had each time the Black Hood called to brag about killing another girl.

 

“It’s over,” Jughead said, almost to himself. 

 

His hand was still warm against her shoulder and she allowed herself a brief moment of peace. “For now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Still keeping your interest? I would love to hear your thoughts if you have the time. Thanks to everybody who has left comments so far. You are awesome!
> 
> BTW, I have a huge paper due for grad school this week, so I may not be able to work on the next chapter until Sunday. The wait will (hopefully!) be worth it, because I have a lot planned.


	4. The hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little less action, a little more conversation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. The response to the last chapter was amazing. THANK YOU! 
> 
> I clearly have no self-preservation skills, because instead of completing my 15-page grad school paper, I wrote another chapter of fanfic instead. Oops?
> 
> This one is more character-driven than the last. Hope you like it!
> 
> PS - Still super-unbeta'd.

After an uncomfortable hour with the EMT and another two recounting the events of the evening with the feds, Betty was ready to sleep for the next few days.

 

“This really isn’t necessary, Veronica,” Betty pleaded weakly, knowing full well she had already lost this battle.

 

“Bullshit!” Veronica swanned through the lobby of her building and into the private elevator that led to her penthouse apartment. She impatiently tapped her designer heel against the hard marble floor, waiting for everyone else to catch up. “Betty, everyone knows the Pembrooke is the most secure building in all of Riverdale.” 

 

Betty didn’t know that. She hadn’t stepped foot in Riverdale since before Veronica and Archie made the move back from Greendale a year ago. Betty hadn’t even been planning on visiting anytime soon until Veronica announced she was pregnant a few months ago.

 

“Kevin’s dad assigned one of his officers to keep an eye on the lobby, so…” Veronica’s concerned gaze zigzagged over the small cuts Betty had on her face and neck. With disappointed tut, she stabbed the buttons for ‘PH’ and ‘Door Close’ button in quick succession with a sharp purple nail. “You’ll both be as safe as kittens here. Trust me.”

 

Jughead scoffed and mumbled under his breath, “Like we have a choice.”

 

Veronica’s glare was so catastrophic it could have leveled a construction site. “Excuse me, Tom Riddle, nobody said it was your turn speak. I haven’t even gotten to the portion of the evening where I complain about you, yet.”

 

Jughead lifted his shoulders in surrender, proving to Betty he occasionally knew when to quit.

 

Archie made the mistake of letting a chuckle slip out, drawing his wife’s attention. 

 

“You’re not off the hook either, Archiekins.” Veronica’s laser-like focus narrowed in his direction. “You knew all about these shenanigans and didn’t say a word.” 

 

He opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it. 

 

Betty wasn’t sure if the elevator ride only felt as though it were taking an hour because she was trapped in a steel box with a fighting married couple or if the penthouse level was indeed located somewhere in the stratosphere. Either way, she was relieved when the lift finally slowed to a stop and the doors parted.

 

Veronica blocked their escape, obviously not finished with her lecture yet. “Archie, you might be okay with _your_ dearest friend running around the woods at all hours of the night with a gunman on the loose,” She derisively flicked her hand in Jughead’s direction. “But, I am certainly not okay with _my_ dearest friend doing that.” 

 

“Your dearest friend is a trained federal agent, Ronnie,” Archie argued, following her out of the elevator into the foyer. “This is literally her job.”

 

“Yeah, but whose fault is it for suggesting Jughead involve her in his whole unpleasant murder situation?” She raised an eyebrow in triumph.

 

Jughead caught the doors before they slid closed again, holding them open for Betty to leave.

 

Betty’s best friend was a force when she was angry, a maelstrom capable of sucking up everything in her path…and then changing direction on a dime.

 

Veronica power-walked through the foyer, tossed her handbag onto the nearest flat surface, and then promptly collapsed sideways against a chaise lounge like an 18th-century French courtesan. “Well, I don’t know about you all, but the excitement this evening has me completely spent.”

 

“Well, you’ve had a big night.” Jughead leaned against the wall of the foyer and crossed his arms. 

 

“Jughead,” Betty hissed, subtly shaking her head at him in warning.

 

“You know, Forsythe, you’re very lucky this baby is sucking all of the fight out of me right now.” Veronica pulled herself to a sitting position and stifled a yawn. “I’d plan to get a good night’s sleep if I were you because tomorrow we will be having _words_.”

 

Veronica ignored the hand Archie held out to help her up and pulled herself to stand. “To be continued…” She announced, before sweeping down the hallway toward her bedroom and slamming the door shut behind her.

 

They all stood silently, not knowing who should speak first.

 

“So…” Archie started, nervously shifting his weight. “Welcome to our home, Betty. I believe this is your first time here?”

 

Betty looked at Jughead and then back to Archie. “Archie, what are you still doing out here?”

 

Archie stared at his bedroom in fear. “Um, stalling?”

 

Jughead smirked. “Are you afraid of your wife, Arch?”

 

Archie cast a wary glance down the hallway at his closed bedroom door, then leaned in and lowered his voice. “Ever since Ronnie got pregnant, it’s like I’m married to two different women at the same time. One of them is mad at me 80% of the day and the other one just wants to bang all the time.”

 

“You just described my last two relationships,” Jughead admitted.

 

Archie scratched his head, pretending to be in deep thought. “Is it a relationship if it doesn’t make it past the two-month mark?”

 

“Ha. Ha.” Jughead gave his friend a playful shove toward the master bedroom. “Go bang your angry wife before she comes back out here and tries to have _words_ with me.”

 

Ever the gracious host, Archie looked to Betty for permission. “You sure you don’t mind?”

 

“Your window of opportunity to apologize is closing, Archie. Get in there and apologize before you end up on the couch,” She urged.

 

“Go on, I got this.” Jughead shooed Archie away with his hands. “I can get Betty settled. I even know where you keep the good china.” 

 

“Oh, thank god. If you guys get hungry, just help yourselves to anything!” Archie shouted over his shoulder, already halfway down the hall.

 

With Archie gone, the foyer descended into an awkward silence. Jughead and Betty stared at each other from opposites sides of the entranceway, their tired body language an echo of each other.

 

When Betty woke up this morning, she had no idea the next 24 hours were going to be such a comedy of errors. She had been so naive to assume the spilled coffee would be the pinnacle of her shitty day.

 

“Sooo…” Jughead started, drawing out the word. “I never got a chance to congratulate you on passing that field test three years ago. How very rude of me.”

 

Betty couldn't help but smile at his silly attempt to break the ice. “Well, you had a lot on your mind…with the almost being murdered and all.”

 

He lifted his eyes to hers, expression soft but determined. “I know you’re probably really pissed off, but I wanted to thank you for what you did for me tonight back at the house.”

 

“What I did for you?” She asked, voice incredulous. “I almost got you killed. They didn’t even catch the guy!”

 

Jughead emphatically shook his head. “Betty, I would be dead if you weren’t there. You kept your cool when I really needed it. If you hadn’t thought of using the laptop to email the police we would never have been rescued. Hell, I wouldn’t have even locked the front door if you hadn’t made me. Incidentally, you were right about that buying us a few extra minutes of time.”

 

It was unbelievable that he was thanking her right now. Even with all her training, her perfect test scores, she had been a complete and utter failure when it counted. “I should have anticipated—”

 

“—what? You should have anticipated that the hitman would use a novelty song from the 1980’s to lure us into the center of the room so we could have our heads sliced open by falling glass?”

 

She deflated at his words. “Okay, when you put it that way, it just sounds absurd, right? I mean, who even remembers Rockwell?”

 

Jughead huffed out a laugh. “I’m definitely going to remember him now. Even less fondly than before, if that’s possible.”

 

“Same.” Betty rubbed at her tension-headache with the back of her hand. “So, um…are you doing okay? You’ve got to be feeling a little overwhelmed and scared.”

 

“Sadly, I’m no stranger to this rodeo,” He quipped, falling way short of his usual deadpan delivery. 

 

“Juggie, I was scared and I’m not even the one they were after.” Betty frowned at his act. “It’s normal to feel violated when somebody breaks into your home.”

 

Jughead shrugged like a sullen teenager. “It’s just stuff, Betty. Nothing important got hurt.”

 

“You got hurt,” She insisted, failing to understand why he felt the need to downplay his experience.

 

He tipped his head to the side and shot her an unimpressed look. “Yeah, so did you.”

 

That was the most he was going to admit to her tonight, Betty had interviewed enough suspects to know when she’d hit a wall. She twisted the ends of her hair around her finger and tried to think of a way to diffuse her own anxiety. “You wouldn’t happen to be hungry at all, would you?”

 

Jughead slid off the wall, a spring now in his step. “God, yes! I thought you’d never ask.” He crooked his head in the direction of the kitchen, motioning for her to follow. “Come on.”

 

* * *

 

Betty wandered into Veronica’s gleaming, state-of-the-art kitchen and laughed. “I’d bet big money none of this has ever been used by either of them.”

 

Jughead walked through the room, letting his hand brush along the pristine, black onyx countertops as he passed. “Yeah, their kid is for sure going to starve to death.”

 

“I feel like I’m going to starve to death.” Betty pushed herself onto one of the countertops to sit. “There’s no way they have any actual food staples in this place…unless cornichons count?”

 

“Well, you’re in for a treat, Betts, because I’m an expert at pulling a meal together out of nothing. I’ve got a childhood’s worth of experience with it” He opened the fridge to check for ingredients and tutted at the lack of supplies. “Well, you were right about one thing.” He reached into the fridge and produced an unopened jar of tiny pickles, depositing it on the counter next to Betty. “Cornichons.”

 

Betty looked down at the jar and wrinkled her nose. “So, we _are_ going to starve to death, is what you’re saying?”

 

He pulled out a few other, random gourmet items from the nearly bare shelves and set them next to the pickles. “Never fear, my dear, I can work with this. People used to call me the Gordon Ramsey of food scavenging.”

 

“Well, that’s clearly a lie.” Betty rested her head against the cabinet door, amused. “I’m sorry, but nobody in the history of the universe has ever uttered that phrase. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of writer?” 

 

He closed the door to the refrigerator and surveyed the assortment of food he’d pulled out. “Ever heard of embellishment?” 

 

“Ever heard of Sriracha?” Betty asked, lifting the bottle from their stash. “Spicy covers a multitude of sins.”

 

Jughead’s eyes briefly dropped to the scars on her hand as she passed him the bottle. “Whoever told you sins are meant to be covered up, Betty?”

  

* * *

 

_“I would pretty much marry a hamburger right now if that’s what it took to get one.” Jughead was fully-dressed, flat on his back next to Betty in her hotel bed, holding the room service menu above them so they both could read it. “I would legit make an honest woman out of a meat patty is all I’m saying.”_

 

_Betty giggled and flipped over to look at him, making herself dizzy in the process. “I hadn’t pegged you as the old-fashioned type, Juggie.”_

 

_“Yeah, I'm not. But, I don’t expect to get the milk for free, if you catch my drift. I’m willing to make the lifelong commitment required to get a taste of the good stuff whenever I want it.” He slapped his fist into the mattress to punctuate his statement._

_“Did that sound less disturbing in your head, or are you just that tanked…?”_

_He leaned forward to grab the rotary phone from the night table but it was just out of reach. Clearly too drunk to make any further effort, he collapsed backward onto the bed again. “Guess I’m doomed to live out my final days alone, now.”_

 

_Betty groaned as she stretched her arm under the bed and snatched her iPad from where it had fallen to the floor. “I think they have a room service app.”_

 

_“Those exist?” He asked, eyes growing wider. “Are we in heaven?”_

 

_“You would love it, Jughead. You can get whatever you want and you don’t even need to make contact with the humans.” She opened the app and began to add various junk food items to her order, selecting every impractical thing that caught her fancy the way only a truly inebriated person would._

 

_“Yes, good. I hate the humans.” He moaned, roughly tugging at his messy hair._

 

_She shot him an indulgent look over the rim of her iPad then finished compiling the order. “Anything to drink?”_

 

_“We’ve probably had enough to drink, no?” He rolled onto his side so they faced each other._

 

_“I’m ordering bourbon.” Betty decided, completing the order. “The mini-fridge already has Coke in it.”_

 

_Jughead narrowed his eyes at her. “I thought you said we were going to continue working on my Jason Blossom problem?”_

 

_Betty mimicked his accusatory tone. “And I thought that you said that we were going to continue drinking until ‘everything was beautiful and nothing hurt’?”_

 

_“Everything already is beautiful.” Jughead reached out and wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. “Pretty sure something will always hurt, though…at least while we’re still breathing.” He tugged sharply on her hair, hard enough to be just the wrong side of painful._

 

_“Ow. Asshole!” She pulled away from him and slapped his arm, then proceeded to tickle him, sending him into a fit of laughter._

 

_Jughead grabbed Betty’s wrists to hold her off and as they struggled. It was that exact moment he noticed the marks on the palms of her hands._

 

_Betty froze and held her breath, unsure of how to handle this. Should she lie? Distract him?_

 

_No. What would be the point? She might not even see this man again. Maybe she could just stop pretending to be something she wasn’t for one night in her life and just let go?_

 

_Jughead pulled her to a sitting position and quietly traced the scars on her palms with his fingertips, then brought both of her hands to his lips and gently kissed them._

 

_A gasp escaped her throat at the gesture. It felt too intimate, too strange. This wasn’t the way people were supposed to react when they caught a glimpse of her darkness, not that anyone ever had. Her mother always valued appearances over everything else, even if it was all artifice. So, Betty hid behind a layer of perfection, created a beautiful mask, papered over the cracks in her foundation with an artist’s brush. And now the whole thing had come crumbling down._

 

_She tried to tug her wrists back, but Jughead held them tightly._

 

_“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” He whispered, head dipping into her eye-line to catch her attention. “I’m actually kind of relieved there’s something wrong with you. You were too….too perfect. I was beginning to think I’d dreamt you up.”_

 

_A stray tear slid down Betty's cheek without her permission. “I’m not perfect, Juggie.”_

 

_“Yes, Betty, you are.” He thumbs caressed the insides of her wrists. “Just like this.”_

 

_Without second-guessing herself, Betty leaned her hand on his thigh and pressed her lips to his cheek, letting her mouth linger there a little longer than appropriate. “Thank you.”_

  

* * *

 

“Thank you. This was far less repulsive than I was anticipating.” Betty, now perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, polished off the last of a cheese and cornichons dish Jughead had aptly christened, _‘We’re in a pickle!’_. 

 

They were halfway down a bottle of fancy red - expensive wine was about the only thing Veronica dependably kept a large stock of - and feeling relaxed.

 

Shoes were off, bellies were full and the mood was lighter as they sat side-by-side, flipping through a series of pictures on Jughead’s laptop. When they were like this, focused on his case, it was easy to put aside past grievances and enjoy his company without feeling guilty. And he was good company, the best ever, but there was a reason Betty hadn’t kept in touch.

 

“Who is the guy in the bad wig, again?” Betty pointed to the patriarch of a large family, entirely dressed in red.

 

“That’s Clifford Blossom,” Jughead took a swig of wine as if trying to wash the taste of the man’s name off his tongue. “Drug manufacturer, kid killer, wig aficionado, and maple syrup kingpin.”

 

Betty nodded, remembering him from Jughead’s investigation all those years ago. “Are we sure he’s not a Lemony Snicket character?” 

 

“Well, he certainly did put forth into motion a series of very unfortunate events,” Jughead tossed his beanie onto the tabletop and reached over Betty to scroll through a few more pictures, the bottom of his forearm softly brushing against the top of hers. 

 

“Oh, my god!” Betty shrieked, as something in one of the photos caught her attention. “Is that Archie? Why is he tapping a maple tree with those people?”

 

“They lost a red-headed teenage son and tried to use Archie as their proxy. They even dressed him in Jason’s clothes and coerced him into dating their daughter. There was some real Vertigo-level weirdness happening in that house.”

 

“Well, that’s not creepy at all.” Betty wondered why Jughead had left out that part of the story the first time he’d told it to her, but assumed he didn’t want to bring up something that sordid during Archie’s wedding. “And that’s the sister?” She asked, her finger hovering over a picture what Betty determined was a live-action Jessica Rabbit. “She’s pretty.”

 

“Yeah? Well God doesn’t give with two hands.” Jughead’s jaw audibly clicked as he stared intently at the photo. “That's Clifford’s evil spawn, Cheryl. Currently occupies the top right square on my murder board. Absolutely loathes me.”

 

Betty scrolled through several pictures of Cheryl, including some from the night of a fire. “What happened to her house?”

 

Jughead took another sip of wine. “Burned it down, herself. Claimed she wanted to cleanse the earth of her horrible family. I guess I can’t really fault her for that.” 

 

“She burned her own house down?” Betty gasped, taking a closer look at the woman’s face. “Did the police press charges?”

 

“She was inside of it at the time, so the cops just chalked it up to a case of temporary insanity. Between us, there’s nothing temporary about Cheryl's insanity.” He scrolled down to a photo of a burned-out empty lot where the mansion used to stand. “Insurance won’t pay out on arson though, so they’ve never been able to rebuild.”

 

“I thought you told me they were responsible for putting jingle-jangle on the streets?”

 

“The Candyman is gone.” Jughead hunched over the computer and a large curl of hair fell into his face. “I pissed off a lot of people with that one.”

 

“Maybe it would be faster if we just made a list of the people in Riverdale who don’t want to see you dead?” Betty suggested, only half-joking.

 

“That list only includes my dad and the people in this apartment…though Ron is probably on the fence after tonight.”

 

Betty couldn’t stop looking at the picture of Cheryl Blossom, unsure if her curiosity was a result of morbid fascination or some kind of bizarre kinship. “What happened to Cheryl and her mom?"

 

Jughead tilted his head up and Betty balled her hands to keep herself from brushing the stray hair from his face. “Cheryl is a cockroach, she always lands on her feet. Penelope Blossom has become a woman of ill-repute…actually, the repute is anything but ill. Apparently, she’s pretty good at her job.”

 

Betty did a double take. “Are you trying to say she’s a ‘call girl’? 

 

“’Call _woman_ ’, Elizabeth, this isn’t the 1950’s.” His face then broke out into a wicked grin. “Did I just scandalize Betty Cooper?” 

 

Betty snorted. After dealing with the Black Hood, all other crimes now seemed somewhat pedestrian to her. “I’m unflappable.”

 

“Is that so?” He asked, almost like a challenge, then nodded his head. “Maybe it is.”

 

Betty folded his laptop closed and placed it to the side. “Who do you think wants you dead, Jughead?”

 

“Beats me?” He shrugged and took another sip of his drink. “I’m spoiled for choice.”

 

Betty stole the drink from his hand and tried again. “Let me rephrase: who do you think _needs_ you dead?”

 

His ears pricked up at her question, attention suddenly keen. “Go on.”

 

“I’m just saying, this is an awful lot of trouble just to kill a guy you don’t like. Three different hit attempts cannot be cheap.”

 

His hand pressed to his mouth in thought. “So, we’re looking for somebody with money?”

 

She tipped her head from side to side. “Or somebody with access to somebody with money.”

 

“But if a person really wanted me dead, they would find the money somehow, right?” Jughead’s ‘serious’ expression was a sight to behold, especially now his cheeks were flushed with a combination of excitement and alcohol. “If you want something badly enough, you can always manage to beg, borrow or steal the cash you need for it.”

 

“Okay, assuming that’s true, you’d still need to own something that’s worth that level of effort, right? You haven’t been an easy person to kill, there has to be something big enough for them to gain from your death that they keep trying to pick you off.” Betty tapped her finger on the top of his laptop in thought.

 

“I don’t…” He brushed his fingers roughly through his hair again, setting it adorably askew. “I can’t believe I spent so much time thinking about why they’d want to murder me and no time at all thinking about why they might want me dead. What you’re really telling me is to follow the money?”

 

Betty nodded, smiling genuinely for the first time in hours. “People kill for passion or they kill for gold. If there were a person who felt _this_ passionately about you, they wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret from you for very long.”

 

His gaze dropped to her lips for a moment, then quickly shot back up to her eyes. “I’m not sure I could ever inspire that level of passion in anyone.”

 

Betty finished the rest of Jughead’s wine, letting the pleasant burn of the alcohol distract her from the full shape of his mouth. “We should really look into anything you own that’s of worth.”

 

“I don’t own anything ‘of worth’. I mean, the land I own is far off the beaten track, I bought it very recently for a song---even the house was completely prefab.”

 

“Think nonlinearly,” She suggested. “Maybe it’s not something tangible? An intellectual property? Your next book?”

 

“Were that only true.” Jughead sighed loudly. “My advance was pretty standard. Everybody knows the real cash is in the second printing, and that’s hardly a guarantee.”

 

Betty rested her chin on her fist and ran through the possibilities. Jughead was unfortunately right, his land was barely worth more than he’d paid and any book royalties he might get were a risky bet. Whoever needed him dead would have to know they were coming into money as a result. There would have to be a guarantee. A thread of an idea tugged at her mind and started to unravel it. “Jug, maybe it’s not something you own now, but something you will own one day?”

 

His brow bunched in concentration. “Like an inheritance?”

 

“I know you don’t come from money, but maybe…could somebody have left you something you’re unaware of? Not yet, but eventually?”

 

“Well, fuck.” Jughead slammed his fist on the counter. “Every goddamn time. Every. Time.”

 

He pushed back from the table in a huff and Betty grabbed his arm to keep him from running off. “Talk to me, Juggie.”

 

His Adam’s Apple bobbed a few times as he tried to calm his temper. “My dad.”

 

Betty slipped off her stool and turned his body to face her. “He’s a convict, right?”

 

Jughead seemed beyond agitated but managed a small nod. “He owns The Whyte Wyrm, a dive bar down on the Southside. I’m on the deed. He put me on it when he went to prison the first time. I was 18. He said he wanted to protect me, in case 'anything happened' while he was in lock-up. There’s no way I would’ve been able to pay the taxes on that place if I’d inherited it from a dead man, but—“

 

“—but if your name was already on the deed you would automatically be the sole owner of the property.” Betty rubbed the place on his arm where she’d grabbed him. “That’s actually pretty smart. We should talk to him tomorrow.”

 

Jughead nodded again, face managing to look both distraught and numb at the same time.

 

“Hey.” Betty tugged on his arm to get his attention. “This is good news, we have direction now. We’re not just blindly throwing darts at a bunch of targets.”

 

“I know.” Jughead tipped his chin down to look at her and cleared his throat. “I think we should go to bed.”

 

Betty bit her lip, assuming the words came off far more suggestive than they were meant to. “Okay.”

 

“Right. I’ll show you to the guest room.” He led her out of the kitchen, both dropping their empty dishes in the sink as they passed, and then down the dark hallway toward her room. “Veronica had your bag brought up from the car, so your clothes should already be there.”

 

“Well, I’ll be very sad to lose this gem,” She teased, plucking at the bottom of Jughead’s _‘Montauk is for Lovers’_ shirt.

 

“I thought you were a romantic?” A hint of a smile appeared on his face as he slowed his pace. “Hey, can I ask you something a little weird?” 

 

She paused and gave him a cautious look. “How weird?”

 

He took a deep breath and bit the inside of his cheek, suddenly looking a bit shy. “During the last three years, did you—did you ever think about…that night?”

 

Betty kept her eyes on her feet and shook her head, sure that Jughead could hear her heart jack-rabbiting against her chest. “Of course not.” 

 

It sounded harsher than she’d meant it to, but she wasn't entirely lying. Other than her issues with him, she hadn’t thought about him much since that night, hadn’t wanted to. Aside from some unsatisfying flings with men assigned to her same field office, she made it a point not to entertain thoughts of boyfriends or domestic bliss. Men had always proven themselves to be both a distraction and a disappointment.

 

“Ouch?” He winced, clutching his hand to his chest. He was trying to cover his hurt with a joke, but Betty could tell that she’d bruised his feelings. He led her further down the hall until they reached the last door.

 

“I didn’t mean it how it sounded. I was just traveling a lot, never in one place. There wasn’t any point in entertaining—“ Betty was fucking this up. She always fucked everything up. Taking a moment to center herself, she started again. “It’s just…it’s kind of like thinking about your favorite meal in prison. You’re never going to get it, so thinking about it all the time would just be…”

 

“Torture?” He supplied, an unreadable look shadowing his features.

 

Betty shrugged and kept her eyes safely on the floor. Had she just compared him to her favorite meal? Implied that being without him was torture? She’d shut off this part of her brain for so long and was obviously unprepared for it to flare back to life again. It was unbelievable he hadn’t run off by now. Instead, he was just standing there patiently, staring at her while she glitched at him like an old computer in need of a software update.

 

“And there’s also the _other thing_ that made me want to just forget that weekend. Why?” She asked, grabbing his arm, obviously incapable of preventing herself from further embarrassment. “Did, um—did you ever think about it? That night?”

 

“We’re here.” Jughead awkwardly gestured to the door in front of them, indicating it as her room.

 

He obviously wasn’t planning on answering her, which only made the urge Betty was nursing to crawl into a hole and die that much stronger.

 

“Thanks,” She whispered, dropping his arm like it was a hot coal to reach for the door handle. “Goodnight, Jughead.”

 

Just as she began to turn the knob, his hand shot out and covered hers, blocking her from twisting it any further. They stood there for a moment, the sound of their breathing the only noise cutting through the heavy silence. 

 

"Betty." His voice was strained when he finally spoke, more earnest that she’d ever heard him sound. “I thought about that night a lot over the last three years. Probably a little more than is healthy.”

 

With that, he turned and left, taking a little piece of her sanity with him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm seriously disappearing until I can get this paper written. It's due Sunday, so hopefully, I can come up for air after that and get a new chapter to you.
> 
> I hope you're still having fun with this story, thanks for sticking with it. 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you can, and let me know what you think!


	5. You can never go home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of the fantastic comments! I love them all.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this long chapter, which is probably riddled with typos and repeated phrases, bc I'm underslept and lousy at beta-ing myself.

Breakfast had not been a brief affair with the forensic level of questioning Veronica subjected Betty and Jughead to in the wake of his attack. Archie - lucky bastard - already extricated himself from the kitchen by pretending he needed to use the bathroom, but Betty and Jughead were not so fortunate. Once Veronica uncovered their plan to visit F.P. at the Whyte Wyrm she latched onto the idea as if it were her own.

 

“I have been waiting over a decade for this moment, Jughead.” Eyes shut, Veronica pressed a manicured hand to her heart and released a melodramatic sigh.

 

Betty scoffed. “We’ve only known each other nine years, Veronica. I met you in the middle of high school.”

 

“Yes. And I have wanted to revamp your tired, girl-next-door oeuvre since the moment you rolled up to our cheerleading auditions wearing a collared sweater _._ A collared sweater, Jughead. Can you imagine the endless cajoling I had to do in order to simply get this girl to put on a basic, Moschino, crocheted, v-neck t-shirt for parties?”

 

Jughead blinked twice at her, clearly struggling to process her words. “I…can not?”

 

Veronica threw her hands in the air. “No, of course not! Nobody can!”

 

Betty refilled her coffee mug to distract herself from the thousands of ways this makeover could go off the rails. She wasn’t concerned about Veronica’s taste, it was just after being forced by her mother to dress and look a certain way for her entire childhood the idea of anybody dressing Betty made her feel squeamish.

 

“You,” Veronica announced, grinning at Jughead, “can now consider yourself forgiven.”

 

“Praise be.” Jughead was trying to sound nonchalant, but his shoulders subtly dropped in relief.

 

“I know how to dress myself, Veronica. I’m a big girl.” Betty scowled and crossed her arms over her chest, but when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the stainless pans hanging from Veronica’s wrought iron cookware tree her scowl deepened. She was still wearing Jughead’s wrinkled Montauk t-shirt (though it was now paired with her own starfish pajama shorts), and her hair was piled messily on top of her head in a half-hearted attempt at a bun. She could admit it wasn’t her best look, but surely she could be trusted with picking out one outfit? “Is this really necessary?”

 

“No,” Jughead said, at the same time Veronica shouted “Yes!”.

 

“Girl, listen,” Veronica started, artificially sweet. “You simply cannot show up to a biker bar looking all…Bettyish.” Her nose wrinkled at the idea and she flailed a hand in the air as if erasing the image from her mind. “It will not fly. Southsiders can sniff out the law a mile away. You have to let me give you a makeover so you can blend in seamlessly, like a custom Sheseido concealer. It’s non-negotiable.”

 

Betty had absolutely no desire to get sucked into one of Veronica’s makeovers, but after Jughead mentioned her need to dress appropriately for the Whyte Wyrm it was a ‘fait accompli’.

 

“Juggie—“ Betty pleaded, looking to him for help.

 

Jughead’s eyebrows quirked along with his lips. “Yeah, I value my life, so no. If Ronnie wants to turn you into Roadhouse Barbie, I am not stupid enough to get in the middle of it.”

 

“Juggie…” She lowered her voice in warning, which he completely ignored in favor of drinking his coffee. “Fine. _Fine._ But keep in mind, I have a long memory.”

 

He looked at her over the lip of his mug. “Well, you sure could’ve fooled me, Betts.”

 

It would've felt like less of a sucker punch if he had physically sucker punched her. She hadn’t forgotten him, even if it may have felt that way to him.

 

“Okay, do your worst, Veronica,” Betty said, aware that it was completely futile arguing with her best friend once she got an idea like this in her head. “Just remember, I need to be able to hide a gun somewhere on my body, preferably around my hips, thighs, or butt, but near my chest is okay, too.” Betty brushed her hands over each part of her anatomy as she named it.

 

Jughead sputtered a sip of coffee and began to cough violently. “Um, if you ladies will pardon me, Archie is simply dying to give me a rough trade makeover, too, so…”

 

“Oh, just go play ‘Grand Theft Auto’ already!” Veronica snarled, as she fixed herself a peppermint tea. “But do not let him drink any beer, Jughead, because the smell of it sweating through his skin makes me want to vomit. Way too many things make me want to vomit nowadays…like those shorts.” She pointed at Betty’s pajamas.

 

“Hey!” Betty shrieked.

 

“No beer. Got it.” Jughead saluted Veronica, then locked eyes with Betty in a lingering glance before leaving the kitchen.

 

The sound of Veronica’s mug hitting the countertop startled Betty.

 

“Excuse me, what the fuck was that?” Veronica was wearing a sly smile like she'd just scored the answer key to a final exam.

 

Betty stole a piece of whole wheat toast from her friend's plate and nibbled the crust. “What was what?”

 

“That look.” Veronica shook her head at Betty like she thought Betty was playing coy or incredibly stupid. “And ‘Juggie’? I’m sorry but even I’ve never called him that and he eats his weight in brunch here every Sunday.”

 

“It just slipped out.” Betty took another bite of toast, hoping it would prevent Veronica from asking for more answers.

 

It did not.

 

“Twice?” Veronica barked out a laugh as she pulled the spent tea caddy from her mug and placed it in the sink. “Also, he called you ‘Betts’, which…that’s pretty damn casual for two people who barely interacted three years ago, no?”

 

“I mean…” Betty pulled her bun out of the clip and began to swaddle her index finger in a small section of hair. “’Barely interacted’ might be a bit of an overstatement.”

 

Veronica’s keen eyes watched Betty closely, following her stiff movements, then Veronica gasped with realization. “Oh, you little sneak! Archie said you two disappeared together from the wedding for a while, but I figured you were just babysitting his misanthropic ass so he wouldn’t piss any more of my guests off.”

 

Betty nodded. “That’s—that’s exactly what I was doing.”

 

“Oh, my God, I cannot believe the U.S. government actually pays you a salary to go undercover, because you are the absolute worst liar!” Veronica squealed, incandescent with glee. “So, what happened? Did you kiss him? Did it go further? Is he any good with his hands? Spill, bitch!”

 

“I can’t believe you’re getting all of this from me saying ‘Juggie’ twice.” Betty twisted her hair back up into the clip and brought her dirty glass to the sink, scrubbing it unnecessarily hard with a sponge. “We—uh, we just hung out, had a drink, and he asked me my professional opinion on the book he was writing. That’s all that happened. I really think you’re reading into things that aren’t there.”

 

Betty wasn’t exactly sure why she was lying to her best friend, but she had kept the details of that night to herself for so long that it almost felt like a betrayal to divulge any of them now. And the aftermath...that wasn’t something she felt like reliving.

 

“Don’t gaslight me. I have eyes and I know what I saw.” Veronica’s fists dug into her hips.

 

“And what did you see?” Betty turned off the water, placed the mug upside down on the drying rack and turned to face the music.

 

Veronica raised an eyebrow, the same way she usually did whenever Archie tried to play dumb after forgetting to do a household chore. “That boy nearly choked on his tongue when you put your hands on your ass.”

 

Betty blushed and took a deep breath before trying a new tactic. “Veronica—“

 

“Save it.” Veronica put her palm in the air to cut off Betty’s speech. “I have no time for your deception. I’ll let you keep your salacious little secrets for now, but when you two inevitably end up ‘in flagrante’ you will give me the details I seek.”

 

Betty covered her face with her hands in embarrassment and spoke through a gap in her fingers. “I’m not going to sleep with him, okay? He’s an assignment. That would be a huge ethical violation.”

 

“Interesting how your excuse was that you _couldn’t_ sleep with him and not that you don’t want to.” Veronica looked and sounded justifiably smug.

 

Betty dropped her hands into fists, her fingers curling up painfully against her palms. She allowed herself to enjoy the momentary sting of pain before regaining control again.

 

Self-harming wasn’t a normal reaction for Betty anymore, she saved it only for occasions when she was feeling overwhelmed and weak, but she'd been doing it a lot since this assignment started and she really needed to get herself together. “Are we going to get this makeover on the road or what?”

 

“Sure.” Annoyingly unfazed by the entire Jughead conversation, Veronica easily shifted into fashion maven gear, surveying Betty’s body as she slowly circled her. “How do we feel about hotpants?”

 

“Not great, actually.” Betty should not have underestimated Veronica’s capacity for creative revenge. 

 

* * *

 

 

Betty tugged at the dark-wash cutoff jean shorts Veronica forced her into wearing and swore under her breath. They were too damn much. Everything was. The pale blue, sleeveless top she had on gripped her curves the entire way down, dipping low enough in the front for the edges of her charcoal lace bra to peek through the neckline, and on her feet were a pair of black combat boots that ended just above her calves.

 

Veronica spent a long time working on Betty’s makeup to make her ‘look cheap’, but Betty honestly couldn’t tell the difference, only that it was all way too over-the-top. Betty took one last look at herself in the mirror, amazed by the transformation, and flipped her hair over to give it one last fluff.

 

Something lightweight dropped to the marble floor with a clatter, pulling her attention.

 

“Fuck.” Jughead was frozen in place while staring at her strangely, a pair of sunglasses lying at his feet.

 

She smoothed down the wrinkles in her clothes, self-consciously. “Is it too much? I feel like it might be too much.”

 

Jughead swallowed audibly and shook his head, appearing a bit dazed. “I, um, think this look probably wouldn’t fly at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, but for where we’re headed…you look perfect.”

 

“Veronica is a magician.” Betty’s eyes swept over Jughead’s form and she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.

 

Veronica and Archie’s wedding weekend had a dress code that ranged from ‘black tie’ to ‘jacket required’. Today, Jughead wore a pair of low slung jeans paired with a white, clingy, ribbed tank top and a blue checked flannel shirt tied loosely around his waist. His exposed arms flexed as he reached up to pull his beanie down over his hair.

 

Betty’s skin felt hot as she crossed the floor to stand in front of him, and then gestured to his boots. “We match.”

 

“Yeah. Veronica kept yammering on about couples needing to match.” He awkwardly kicked one of his shoes against the floor, nearly catching it on the leg of the foyer table.

 

“Are we a couple?” Betty’s mouth tugged into a lopsided smile.

 

“I didn’t mean—“ Jughead’s eyes widened with panic. “I meant for your cover. Maybe? I wouldn’t want to presume.”

 

“Are you asking me to go fake steady?” Betty teased, bending over to retrieve Jughead’s sunglasses from the floor. She popped back up in time to notice Jughead turn away quickly, the sudden movement causing a lock of hair to fall across his forehead. “It’s always best to use elements of the truth in a cover story. So, if anybody asks, maybe we tell people we met at our friend’s wedding three years ago?” Betty carefully slid Jughead’s sunglasses onto his face, letting her fingers trail down the sides of his face as she slowly pulled her hands away. “And, we’ve been off and on ever since.”

 

They'd decided to pose as a couple, afraid somebody mind find it suspicious for a woman like Betty to randomly tag along with Jughead to The Wyrm. Of course, lying to the masses meant also lying to Jughead's dad, because the bar wasn't the most secure location for a private talk and was also no stranger to being bugged.

 

Jughead's mouth fell open at her touch. “Was it—was it love at first sight?”

 

“For me?” Betty dipped her head from side to side in deliberation. “I hated you at first. I thought you were an asshole.”

 

“Everybody thinks I’m an asshole when they first meet me.” Jughead grinned, starting to play along. “I’m an acquired taste.”

 

“You are.” Betty replied, using the fondest tone possible to spare his feelings. “But it didn’t take long for me to be intrigued. And after about 20 minutes of speaking to you, everybody else seemed so much less interesting by comparison.”

 

He looked slightly surprised by her disclosure. “Well, I noticed you the moment you walked in. It was like the ghost of Grace Kelly entered the room.”

 

Betty’s pulse sped up at the compliment, even knowing it was a lie. “That's a nice character detail. You almost make it sound true.”

 

Jughead's expression grew complicated, causing Betty to wonder if she'd said the wrong thing. "I was actually a little wary of talking to you at first, mostly because I was afraid you’d turn out to be stupid or mean?”

 

“What made you decide to chance it?” 

 

“You, um…” He took a step closer and leaned in, conspiratorially. “You were at the children’s bar, helping one of Archie’s kid cousins concoct the perfect virgin drink. You were so patient with him and it wasn’t until a few minutes into the process you realized he kept requesting bottles only from the highest shelves just for a chance to look up your skirt each time you reached for one.”

 

“Oh, my god, that preteen pervert! I hated that kid!” Betty was irritated all over again at the memory.

 

“I remember thinking ‘Now, is the moment she goes ballistic and starts screaming at the little turd’, but you didn’t. You just calmly knelt down beside him and splashed some of his own drink down the front of his trousers, then told him—“

 

“—that if he ever bothered me again, I would take him on a trip to the nearest chocolate fountain and I’d get his backside, next,” She said, giggling over her words. “And that was the tipping point for you? Me making it look like a middle school child wet his pants?”

 

“I was bullied a lot as a kid, and that is exactly the kind of petty, spiteful revenge scheme young-me would’ve very much appreciated.” Jughead lifted his hand as if to touch her arm then changed direction and scratched the back of his neck instead.

 

“Well, I’m glad I was a petty bitch then.” She tucked her gun into the back of her shorts and covered it with a flannel tied like Jughead’s around her waist.

 

“Yeah, me too.” Jughead lifted a motorcycle helmet from the table and gently pushed it over her head.  

 

"Wait!" Betty cried, her voice muffled by the helmet. "We're riding your motorcycle there?"

 

"Rumspringa!" He declared, cryptically, and donned his own helmet.

 

* * *

 

_Betty and Jughead were spread out on the bed engaged in a heated brainstorming session. Their discarded room service tray sat haphazardly on the floor along with a half-empty bottle of bourbon and two empty cans of Coke. They had been drinking all night, but the full meal they’d eaten sobered them up enough to be coherent. Still, being as drunk as she was, Betty wasn’t sure what - if anything - her input was contributing to Jughead’s investigation._

_“You seriously don’t think this was some kind of drug-related, gangland-style killing?” Jughead asked, sliding to a horizontal position on his side. “He was shot once in the front of the head.”_

_“Mafia kills are usually two to the back of the head.” Betty demonstrated, pressing the tips of her index and middle fingers against the back of his skull. “One in the face at point-blank range? Well, that just seems rather personal, doesn’t it?”_

_He frowned in concentration. “I guess that is pretty cold. You’d have to really want to watch somebody die, offing them like that.”_

_“Bingo.” Betty touched her nose and then took a sip of her cocktail. She knew it was ill-advised to keep drinking, but she didn’t feel like doing the responsible thing for once. She had the rest of her life to do that. Besides, this was the most fun she’d had in years. “Anyway, you said he had a car loaded up with all his stuff ready for an escape. Who was he running from and why? And most importantly, why did a pampered, rich kid have to peddle drugs for cash? What did he do to piss off his parents?”_

_“He got a girl pregnant.” Jughead pulled himself back up to a sitting position. “Maybe he was planning on running away with her because his parents didn’t approve and they got rid of him to avoid the public embarrassment?”_

_“Why not kill the girl too, then? You said she’s still alive?”_

_“Her parents have her locked up with the asylum nuns from ‘American Horror Story’,” Jughead said, taking a long sip of his drink. “I feel like we’re still missing something. Jason Blossom may have screwed over a drug ring, but as you said, his murder was clearly personal.”_

_“Is it possible those two things are connected?” She asked. "Could he have had a personal relationship with someone in the gang?"_

_"Enough to kill him like that? I can't imagine. They would've only just met." Jughead groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. “I need to clear my head. Too bad I can’t go for a ride on my bike.”_

_“You have a motorcycle?” Betty tried not to picture Jughead straddling a hog, but the idea was too compelling to pass up._

_Jughead looked up with sudden interest. “You ride?”_

_“Do I look like I ride?” Betty asked, laughing. “My mother would murder me if she ever caught me doing that.”_

_“You let your mother decide what you do and don’t do?” He raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Betty and she felt oddly sheepish about it. “You shouldn’t let her opinion stop you from doing the things you want. How else has Mama Cooper kept you down?”_

_“It’s not that I wouldn’t do those things because of her, it’s more like I just haven’t yet.” She squirmed uncomfortably under his assessing gaze and rested her drink on the nightstand. “I want to though and I will. I think.”_

_“Okay, so you’re a motorcycle virgin.” Jughead's choice of words sent Betty’s mind careering into the gutter. “What else haven’t you done?”_

_“I don’t know how to ride a two-wheel bike,” She admitted, burying her face in the nearest pillow. “It’s my darkest shame!”_

_Jughead laughed with his whole body, then pulled the pillow out from under her head and flipped her onto her back. “What other naughty stuff has Betty Cooper denied herself?”_

_Betty looked up at him and her stomach swooped. His lips were wet from his last sip of bourbon, hair mussed from lying on the bed for so long, pupils dark and infinite. He looked like sin personified. Before she could censor herself, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’ve never had a one-night stand.”_

_Jughead’s mouth parted slightly and he sucked in a breath. “Is that why you asked me back to your room? Are you trying to seduce me?” He asked, faintly amused._

_“Of course not,” She insisted, but it didn’t even sound convincing to her own ears._

_Jughead loomed over her, bracketing her head with his hands. “Is this some kind of Rumspringa situation, because I’m 100% okay with helping you try every dirtybadwrong thing in the time you have left?”_

_Betty giggled, squinting her eyes shut to block out the embarrassment. “I’m just sick of being good. I thought maybe I’d try something different just for one night, and you seemed…different.”_

_“Are you saying I’m not like other boys?” Jughead asked, and – though Betty couldn’t see him – she could hear the smile in his voice. “I feel like a Y.A. heroine.” His fingers caressed the side of her face, thumb angling her chin up, lengthening the column of her neck. “Will I get a happy ending?”_

 

_Betty's eyes opened wide at his innuendo._

_“Don't they always? After all, happiness is part of the human condition, Juggie.” Her breathing turned staccato, waiting to see what he would do next._

 

_“So is suffering, but I guess you can’t have one without the other.” Jughead pressed a soft kiss to the hollow of her throat and she melted with the contact. His breath was ghosting across her collarbone, warming her skin, more intoxicating than the booze. “Betty, you need to tell me to stop.”_

_His fingers tightened possessively under her jaw and she arched her back reflexively._

_As a general rule, Betty never let herself have nice things. Then again, she didn’t exactly feel like herself tonight and Jughead wasn’t always nice._

_She leaned forward, pressing her neck deeper into his grip. “I won’t”._

* * *

 

The Whyte Wyrm was exactly the kind of bar Betty assumed it would be, with its slightly sticky surfaces and the stale scent of cigarette smoke clinging to the walls. The clientele was a mix of bearded old-timers from cycle clubs, the odd hipster with a danger fetish and a handful of Southside Serpents from across the generations. They orbited a large atrium that stood imposingly in the center of the room, housing a grizzled old rattlesnake.

 

“This is certainly an aesthetic.” Betty idly decided The Whyte Wyrm was violating every food and health code on record.

 

“If we’re lucky, we can get in and out without anybody taking too much notice of us.” Jughead’s fingers were twisted into the hem of his shirt, his jaw rigid and tense.

 

“You okay, Jug?” She asked, softly, suddenly regretting suggesting this location for the meeting. They could have met F.P. somewhere else, but she knew if they were going to figure out who was trying to kill Jughead it would be more productive to canvass the bar for suspects.

 

“It’s cool.” Jughead gave his head a subtle shake. “This place just brings back a lot of bad memories from my salad days.”

 

“You’re not that kid anymore.” Betty reached out and pulled his hands away from the fraying edge of his shirt and held them between her own. “And, you’ve got this under control.”

 

He stared at their intertwined hands and huffed out a laugh. “Well, if I don’t, at least my fake girlfriend can beat them up.”

 

Behind the bar, was a spitfire of a woman, blessed with the kind of curves Betty always envied. Her long pink hair bounced as she mopped up a small spill near the cash register with a dirty rag. She looked up at their approach and erupted into grin, brown eyes shining with affection. “The prodigal asshole returns!”

 

“Toni.” Jughead’s smile mirrored hers, and the two of them exchanged a meaningful glance. “You’re looking terrible, as always.”

 

“Right back atcha, Jones.” She leaned over the bar and grabbed Jughead by the front of his shirt, forcing him to meet her halfway, then pressed a purposely messy kiss to the side of his face that he immediately wiped off with the back of his hand. “Okay, but really, somebody’s been hitting the gym, huh? You take up jogging?” She gave Jughead’s body an appreciative once over and let out a low whistle.

 

“Not unless you count running for my life.” He threw an arm over Betty’s shoulders and drew her into his side, calling her to Toni's notice.

 

Toni’s gaze darted to Betty and slowly trailed down her body in a way that made Betty feel naked. “And what do we have here?”

 

“This is Betty. My _girlfriend_ , Betty.” Jughead added, a little self-consciously, dropping his arm from her. “Betty, this is Toni Topaz.”

 

It didn’t take a Special Agent to detect that these two had some kind of romantic history between them, but any stirrings of jealousy Betty might have felt were extinguished the longer Toni continued to stare at her legs with such obvious intent.

 

“Hello Girlfriend Betty, it’s certainly a pleasure to meet you,” Toni purred, reaching out to give Betty the most seductive handshake she’d ever experienced.

 

Betty smiled, not completely unflattered. “It’s nice to meet you too, Toni.”

 

Jughead harrumphed and physically broke off the women’s handshake. “Settle down, Carol Aird.”

 

Toni threw her head back and chuckled. “You ever get tired of this one, Girlfriend Betty, my door is always unlocked…”

 

“Unlocked? More like busted,” a deep voice catcalled from a nearby bar stool.

 

“Fuck off, Sweet Pea! I’m trying to operate over here,” She shouted back.

 

Jughead rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well maybe you could stop trying to work my girl for a minute and let my dad know I’m here?”

 

“If you insist.” Toni walked around the bar and playfully punched Jughead in the shoulder on her way to fetch F.P. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, JJ. Girlfriend Betty has barely stopped staring at your arms since you walked in. Why don’t you put one of them around her again?”

 

Betty’s cheeks flared at being called out.

 

Jughead’s forced laughter did nothing to assuage the awkwardness of the situation. “Sorry about that. She loves to provoke and has a tendency to get a little pushy.”

 

Betty leaned closer to him so they could speak more privately. “Old girlfriend?”

 

“Something like that.” He wrinkled his nose, then looked at her for permission before resting his hands on her hips. At least one of them remembered they had to make this look real.

 

Betty wrapped her arms around Jughead’s neck and felt a shaky whoosh of air leave his lungs as she pressed her body closer to his, then brought her lips to his ear. His skin smelled too good, and not for the first time, Betty wondered if this cover story might have been her worst idea ever. “Anybody else in this place worth talking to?”

 

Jughead rested his chin over her shoulder and lowered his voice, the rumble of it echoing in her chest. “At your 7 o’Clock is a serpent named Tall Boy, long hair, face like an old shoe. Do you remember him from the murder board?”

 

Betty nodded, completely frustrated at her inability to see behind her, but glad for the distraction. “Should we go over and say hi?”

 

The noise he made in response did not sound positive. “He’s not a member of my fan club.”

 

Betty pulled back and looked at him. “You know, if you were a little nicer to people, so many of them might not want to kill you so badly.”

 

“But, how else am I to separate the wheat from the chaff?” He pulled a shit-eating grin.

 

She walked her fingers up the valley of his chest to give the illusion they were canoodling. “How about you go talk to your dad and I buy the tall gentleman over there a drink?”

 

Jughead’s hands tightened on her hips. “That’s a really bad idea, Betty. I mean, I know you’re trained for this, but he’s a nasty piece of work, definitely not somebody you want to approach solo. You’ve read my file—.”

 

“Jug! F.P.’s free.” Toni sent Betty a wink as she emerged from the inner office door.

 

Jughead gaze drifted to the floor in thought. “It’s your call, obviously, this is your operation, I’m just…”

 

“Worried about me?” Betty asked, a warm feeling building in her chest.

 

His eyes lifted to hers, troubled and full of concern, then darted away. “Yeah.”

 

The fact that Betty was even considering changing any part of her mission because of Jughead’s feelings made her slightly queasy. This was her job. Hewas her job. She had to make the best choices to protect him not bend to his wish to protect her. It was counteractive to the whole assignment.

 

As his hands curled perfectly around her hips like they were designed for them, she found herself growing weak. 

 

However, none of that mattered. What mattered was keeping him alive. Betty needed him alive and she was self-aware enough to recognize there was more behind that need than just the job.

 

“Jug,” She held his face between her hands and forced him to look at her. “We need to find out who’s trying to kill you and stop them. If I don’t take risks to solve this mess, then you could end up needing a police escort for the rest of your life.”

 

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” He said, with a tiny shrug, flashing her that goddamn smirk of his.

 

“Yo!” F.P. hollered, leaning halfway out of his office door. “We’re burning daylight, son. Get back here and give your old man a hug already.”

 

Jughead smiled brightly and took off for F.P.’s office, dragging Betty with him by the hand, essentially making her decision about Tall Boy for her.

 

And she let him, because she was losing her objectivity.

 

“Hey, Pop.” Jughead threw one arm around his dad and held him tightly, still keeping Betty anchored to his side by their joined hands.

 

“This is some welcome.” F.P. chuckled and gave Jughead’s back a few affectionate slaps. “Last time you hugged me this hard was the day I left prison.”

 

“It’s been a rough few days.” Jughead sighed thoughtfully and continued into the office pulling Betty behind him.

 

“Doesn’t look like everything about it was too rough.” F.P. lifted his chin toward Betty. “I’m F.P. Jones.”

 

“You don't go by Forsythe either, I see?” Betty commented, finally extricating herself from Jughead’s strong grip to shake the older man’s hand.

 

F.P. pointed at her. “He told you his real name? You must be something, huh?”

 

“This is my girlfriend, Betty.” Jughead said, nudging her to take a seat near F.P.’s desk. 

 

“You didn’t mention you had a girlfriend.” F.P. closed his office door, then turned to face them both. “But, I’m assuming you didn’t say anything because this one is special.” He shot Betty a wink. “Jughead’s never brought a girl home to meet me before. I was beginning to wonder if he even liked girls.”

 

“Thanks for that, Pop.” Jughead pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

 

Betty laughed at the exchange, finding their relationship sweet. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jones.”

 

“F.P.” he corrected, then took the seat opposite them. “So, I’m assuming this isn’t a social visit? You said it was important over the phone.”

 

“Yeah.” Jughead looked momentarily uncomfortable. “I, uh, I’m not sure if you remember that first time you got sent up for a felony, right after my high school graduation?”

 

“Ah yes, ‘possession with intent to sell’, a Class E., if I'm not mistaken.” F.P. sounded as if he were recounting a fond memory. “That shit ain’t even illegal anymore.”

 

“Do you remember changing the deed for the bar? Adding my name?” Jughead said, pressing on. “Am I still on the deed?”

 

“Of course you are. Who else am I gonna leave this place to? Jellybean hasn’t stepped foot in this town in 11 years.” F.P. pressed his lips into a line, clearly disappointed by this.

 

“Has anybody ever tried to buy this place from you?” Betty asked, pushing her way into the conversation.

 

F.P. shrugged. “A few offers here and there, nothing serious, none that amounted to anything.”

 

“No corporations?” Betty asked. "Anybody who seemed particularly angry you wouldn't sell?"

 

“Your girlfriend sure asks lot of really specific questions, Jug.” His brow furrowed in Jughead’s direction, suddenly suspicious.

 

Betty felt the weight of Jughead’s hand high on her thigh, signaling for her to stop the interrogation.

 

“I just want to keep him safe.” Betty batted her eyes in a way she knew men responded to and F.P.’s expression softened. “We’re looking at every angle, Mr. Jones.”

 

F.P. observed her for a moment and then nodded, and the warmth of Jughead’s hand left Betty's leg. “There is one company that hired the Serpents a few years back to handle a few small jobs for them. Maybe they wanted the Whyte Wyrm to keep an eye on us or maybe they just wanted a little more skin in the game?”

 

“Are you sure it was about The Serpents? Could they have just wanted to own the land this bar is on?" She asked, her tone growing urgent.

 

“It’s Southside land,” F.P. said as if the meaning of that should be obvious. “The Southside could be on fire and I doubt anybody from the North would piss on it to put it out.”

 

“What if the Southside wasn’t _the Southside_ anymore?” Betty shifted forward in her seat. “What if somebody wanted to gentrify the area and make it into a place where Northsiders might want to live? Maybe build some luxury apartments and boutique stores? The Whyte Wyrm would be a pretty important chess piece to knock off the board, no? You can't have a Northside haven with a gang bar smack in the center of the area. Have they been pushing people out?"

 

F.P. looked down at his desk, pensively. "There have been rumors, nothing concrete. My boys have been picked up a lot more frequently, so whatever this is, they have the city's support." 

 

"The police could round up snakes all day, but it would probably be much more effective to destroy the nest,” Betty explained, suddenly fearful for F.P.'s safety. "You should watch your back."

 

“I always do.” F.P. raised his brow at Jughead and nodded in approval. “Your girlfriend’s pretty smart, Jug. I can see why you brought this one home. And, I think she may be onto something.”

 

Jughead gave Betty a sidelong glance. “She usually is.”

 

“There have been a few places, Serpent landmarks that have fallen by the wayside lately. Some were run into the ground, but others? I don’t know, they seemed to disappear overnight.” F.P. took a pen and pad out of the top drawer of his desk and began to write down the names of local businesses and the dates they went under. “I’ll make a list.”

 

“What about the business that made you the offer? Do you remember the name?” Betty asked.

 

F.P. looked up from his pad with the same expression as before, like she’d just missed the punchline of the world’s funniest joke. “I should, they own half the town. In fact, Jug was in their kid’s wedding a few years back. I doubt the family was happy about _that_ turn of events,” He said, chuckling, as he went back to his writing.

 

Betty closed her eyes and tried to keep her head about her, but the panic began to well up within her. “Lodge Industries?”

 

“The one and only,” F.P. mumbled as he finished his writing and slid the list forward.

 

Jughead’s hand found Betty’s thigh again and squeezed. “I think we’ve gotten enough to go on, Dad. If you can think of anything else, let us know, okay?” He stood up, pocketed the list, and signaled to Betty that she should follow, but she was glued to her seat, too shocked to move. “Come on, baby,” He urged, gently pulling her to stand on taffy legs.

 

Betty's features strained as she tried to put Veronica's face out of her mind, attempting to block out the way it might look if she had to tell her best friend that her parents were attempted murderers. When Betty recovered, she turned and smiled brightly at Jughead's father. “Thanks Mr. Jones. This was very informative.”

 

“It’s F.P., Betty, and the pleasure's all mine. Take good care of my boy for me, will you?” He wrapped one arm around her and gave her a hug, then whispered quickly in her ear, “You are exactly what he’s always been looking for, but you’ve got to know by now he’s bad at this, so be patient with him?”

 

Betty nodded, shocked for the second time in five minutes. “Don't worry, I'll take care of him, F.P.”

 

“I believe you will,” F.P. smirked, shooting an obvious glance at Betty’s arm wrapped around Jughead’s waist. “Don’t be a stranger, son.”

 

“I won’t.” Jughead suddenly stopped and turned, halfway out the door. “Oh, wait, I meant to ask, what happens to the Wyrm if both of us have shuffled off our mortal coils? Would the deed revert back to the city?”

 

“You never fail to go to the dark place, Jug, do you?” F.P. scratched the stubble on his chin in thought. “I believe there’s some arcane blue law where the land goes back to the person who was last in possession of it.”

 

“And who’s that?” Betty asked, her interest reinvigorated by any line of investigation that did not lead back to the Lodges.

 

“The Aardwolf,” F.P. replied, looking a bit sad. “But, he’s been dead 15 years now. You can ask Tall Boy about him if you’re interested. The Aardwolf was his pa.”

 

Jughead and Betty exchanged a concerned look and walked swiftly down the hallway, completely silent. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are progressing! You won't have to suffer the UST *that* much longer, I promise. I’m going away next week, but hopefully it won’t be too long until the next chapter.
> 
> What did you think? Are you still enjoying it? Please hit me up with a comment if you have the time - I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	6. Boom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote you a novel this time, and it's all gloriously unbeta'd, so please excuse the mistakes.  
> Also, please note the chapter rating is now EXPLICIT, and will probably only get worse from here. Sorry young ones.  
> Hope you enjoy it!

They walked swiftly down the hallway, arm in arm, completely silent. The panic within Betty had built since the moment FP mentioned Lodge Industries, and if she didn’t do something productive in the next five minutes she’s might implode. She just couldn’t go back to the Pembrooke and tell her pregnant friend her parents might be criminals. She didn’t want Veronica to have to go through that again in her condition. Tall Boy was just in the other room playing pool, an alternative narrative for Betty to cultivate. If he were responsible for Jughead’s attack it would mean that the Lodges weren’t.

As they breached the main room of the pub, Jughead suddenly pulled Betty back by her shoulders and pressed her up against the wall just out of view of the patrons. “You’re so unhinged right now you’re practically vibrating. You cannot go in there half-cocked.”

Betty huffed her irritation and ineffectively tried to shove his hands away. “I can assure you, my gun is fully cocked.”

Jughead rolled his eyes at her, but behind his annoyance was a layer of affection. “I know you’re pissed and determined to prove my dad wrong about the Lodges, but you’re not stupid. You can’t go in there hot and expect to get what you’re looking for from a guy like Tall Boy. We don’t even know what this is yet, we have to talk to Ronnie first and strategize.”

He was right, she was acting irrationally. But, Betty lived through Veronica's anguish the last time the government brought her father up on charges and was determined to spare her from another round of it if possible. Even if it meant talking to Tall Boy before they were ready to. “He’s right  _there_ , Jughead. Maybe we can just shake him like a tree and see what falls out?”

Jughead took a pained breath and readjusted his hold on her. “Look, I don’t want to have this conversation with Ronnie any more than you do, but she can help us rule out a lot of theories about her family and you know it. Tall Boy hasn’t left the Southside in 50 years, this will keep for one more day.”

Betty closed her eyes for a moment and tried to calm her temper. The sharp bite of her fingernails in the center of her palms gave her rage a point of focus, and as she found her release a wave of calm subsumed her. When her eyes flipped back open Jughead’s hands were on her face, thumbs pressing firmly against the underside of her jaw to keep her in place. “Okay, Juggie.”

The muscles in his face fell slack and a trace of a smile began to appear. “God, I was 50% sure you were about to go ‘Kill Bill’ and I just haven’t had practice fighting anybody in years. Your angry face is positively harrowing.” 

“I’m sorry.” This wasn’t how a federal agent should act. Betty had never lost sight of herself like this before, and she ashamed. This was exactly the reason the bureau had rules against agents having a personal involvement with cases, but she knew it was too late to stop herself. “Sometimes, I lose control when I’m mad. I’m working on it.”

She rested her hands on his wrists and he immediately noticed the blood. “Oh, Betty.”

Betty hadn’t broken her skin in over a year, and nobody but her mom had ever seen her actively bleeding like this. Her whole life she managed to keep this side of herself hidden from view and now it was all out there - smeared across his wrists - a visual stain of shame. “It’s nothing. Can we please leave?” 

“Let’s just get you cleaned up and then we’ll go, okay?” He carefully wrapped an arm around her waist, trying not to get blood on either of their clothes and walked her into the main room toward the bar. 

Toni took one look at the two of them, noticed Betty’s bloody palms and froze, then pulled the first aid kit from a drawer and left it on the counter. She offered them a half-hearted smile before turning to give them some privacy, knocking a bottle of maple syrup on the floor in the process. 

“Shit,” Toni grumbled, then placed it back on the counter and fled from the area, calling over her shoulder to them as she walked, “Let me know if you need anything, Jug.”

Jughead responded with a grunt as he roughly cleaned the blood from his wrists with a bar towel. He then tenderly swabbed Betty’s hands with peroxide soaked gauze, allowing the white foam to fill the crescent moon cuts on her palms before dabbing it away and smoothing antibiotic ointment in its place. “I knew about the scars, obviously, but I didn’t think…I don’t know what I thought.” 

Betty couldn’t even feel the embarrassment she knew she was experiencing as these episodes always left her hollow and numb. But, by the time he’d finished bandaging her hands she had grown more lucid. Jughead, however, looked so fragile now Betty thought the slightest movement might make him shatter like a lightbulb. 

“Thank you,” She whispered, trying to make her presence as small as possible. She was a mess. Why did he want her of all people protecting him when he could have almost anyone else? “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

“Hey.” He leaned forward, his forehead almost touching hers, and the bold gesture momentarily made her fingers twitch in. “I’m truly sorry if anything I’ve done ever drove you to—if I was ever the reason for…this. I should have called you again after they published my book. I never should have given up.”

How did he expect her to respond to that? She assumed they had come to an unspoken agreement to never again mention what he’d done to her. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have at all, much less in the middle of a dive bar during an assignment. Regardless, she couldn’t bear to have him looking at her like he’d just admitted to running over her cat.

Betty pulled away from him and cleared her throat. “We should go. Veronica will be back from the Lodge shareholders meeting soon.”

“Right.” He stared at her for a moment, like he was unsure if he wanted to let the conversation go, then silently nudged her toward the door with an open hand. “Come on.”

The sun was starting to fade, golden-yellow bleeding into salmon and blue. Betty let Jughead pass in front of her and the light from above produced a halo over him, casting his skin in a luminous and otherworldly glow.

He threw a leg over his motorbike and steadied it, then held out a helmet to her which she wordlessly accepted and pulled on.

Betty climbed behind him on the bike, wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his back. Despite his past transgressions, she knew he was a good person. Maybe she had been too hard on him a couple of years ago, shutting him out, but it was all she could bring herself to do back then. “I should have returned your call, Juggie.” 

“No.” Jughead said nothing for a moment, then loudly gunned the engine twice. “I wouldn’t have called me back either under the circumstances. I’m just grateful you’re talking to me now.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Betty and Jughead returned to the Pembrooke it was almost evening. The apartment was empty and dark, save for the blue light of dusk streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the park. Jughead deadlocked the door behind them, making a big show of it for Betty's benefit. 

The soft smile she gifted him in response quickly slid off her face as she took in the Lodge family portrait hanging on the foyer wall, imposingly hanging over them with watchful eyes, like a trio of feudal lords. Betty wondered what the point was of locking themselves inside when the danger might not even exist beyond the walls of this apartment.

Jughead followed her gaze, withering under the cold stare of Hiram Lodge, his arm wrapped vice-like around his Teflon wife, the world’s coldest corporate stock photo. “Do you think if we say ‘greed is good’ three times in a row they’ll appear to us like Beetlejuice?”

Betty giggled, then leaned against the nearest wall and crossed her arms. “They may be cardboard-cutout villains from an 80’s comedy, but for some reason Veronica still loves them.”

“Social conditioning,” Jughead offered as an explanation. “Or perhaps she just loves a version of them that doesn’t exist anymore—or maybe never did?” His left hand scrubbed over his face, countenance weary. “She wouldn’t be the first to get sucked in by a delusion.”

Betty thought back to the night they spent together and vaguely recalled Jughead mentioning - after she’d relayed a few colorful tales of Alice’s invasiveness - how his mother had abandoned him. She told him if they merged their mothers they might just end up with one normal one. “I think I need to talk to Veronica alone, her parents have always been a sticky subject for her.”

Contrary to what she had anticipated his reaction being, Jughead appeared mildly tickled. “You don’t trust me not to lose my temper and be an asshole about it, huh? It’s okay, Cooper, I know I don’t have the most delicate touch when it comes to matters of the heart.” He looked her directly in the eye, his Adam’s Apple dipping as he swallowed hard. “And, sometimes, by the time I do think of the right thing to say it’s already too late to make things right." 

The air grew heavy between them and Betty frowned at him alluding to their past. She wondered why he insisted on touching old bruises when she could barely acknowledge that they were there. Was he just trying to assuage his own guilt or was there something more behind this. 

Maybe if she held out an olive branch he’d stop and they could go back to not talking about it again? “It’s not too late to make things right, Jug.”  

“Do you really mean that?” He looked like he didn’t quite believe her. “It’s just, I don’t think it's a reach to assume you hated my guts when they released my book. You never once returned any of my calls.”

“I never hated you,” She said, definitively, shaking her head. “I was angry.”

He leveled her with an incredulous look. “You pretended you didn’t recognize me back at my house.”

Betty huffed out an indignant noise halfway between a snort and a growl. “Oh, excuse me for not immediately realizing F. P. Jones, the famous author the FBI charged me to protect, was the same person as Jughead Jones, the Truman Capote-worshipping hipster I drunkenly slept with at a wedding a few years back. It’s not like I met you in the middle of a tropical storm.” She crossed her arms again and took a deep breath, attempting to calm her rapidly rising blood pressure. “And let's not pretend you weren’t trying to hide your identity from me. You knew I would never have taken the assignment if I’d known it was you. You kept running up ahead me in the rain, purposely turning your back so I wouldn’t see your face! The second you allowed me to see you I knew it was you.”  

“You referred to me as ‘Archie’s best man’.” His lips pursed into an unimpressed line.

Betty narrowed her gaze at him. “You  _were_  Archie’s best man, Jughead.”

“Betty—”

“Fine, you got me!” She threw her hands in the air in defeat. “I was trying to be a bit of an asshole. I thought if I played it coy you wouldn’t realize your book hurt me as much as it had. Are you happy?” 

“Jesus, Betty. No.” Jughead said, expression breaking. He wandered in a circle as his hands tugged roughly at his hair. “No, I’m not happy. I’m a fuck up and I hurt you. Of course, I’m not happy. I told myself what I’d done to you was okay, but I knew damn well it was sleazy. I should’ve called you again and again and not given up until you’d spoken to me.  I have no excuse other than my cowardice.” Jughead’s eyes averted down, palms open as if begging. “I know I can’t take it back, but I’m so sorry, Betty. You have no idea.” 

The last 24 hours had been so tumultuous, Betty told herself she hadn’t had much time to think about the ways he broke her trust. The real reason was she hadn’t wanted to. After she captured The Black Hood, half the media outlets around the country wrote about her, dissected her psyche, left her private life gutted and splayed out for the world to pick through and devour like vultures. 

She had just gotten her anonymity back when she received Jughead’s voice message informing her that she would again be exposed, this time splashed all over the pages of his book. It felt like tearing a stitch fresh after surgery. 

Jughead claimed he changed the name of her character, that nobody would know, but Betty felt violated nonetheless. He was using her personality, her history, even her visage, to build the central character in his book, with his alter ego relegated to just a sidekick. She couldn't bring herself to call him back and was too embarrassed to bring it up with Veronica and Archie. Doing so would've made it real.  

Eventually, Betty’s job took her on a whirlwind and she was able to distract herself from the betrayal, to shut it out of her head and pretend it never happened. That is, until he handed her a pair of dry clothes in his living room and everything between them came crashing back in. 

She tried to stay calm, desperate not to lose control like she had earlier at the bar. “You used me.” 

“I—yes. I used you.” He admitted, looking even more devastated than Betty felt. “I don’t have an excuse, other than I couldn’t imagine writing the story any other way.” 

“But, you even wrote about…you wrote about my  _hands_ ,” She hissed, in a choked off whisper, as she flashed him her bandages. “You turned my worst shame into some sort of—of character development for people’s entertainment.” 

Jughead paled at her words and his breathing picked up. “The character was you, and this—” he pointed to her hands, “is part of who you are, and there is  _nothing_  shameful about it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.” 

Betty’s laugh was so bitter it surprised even her. “Yeah, tell that to my shrink.”

“I need you to know how sorry I am and how badly I regret everything, especially that.” He sagged against the wall, self-loathing pouring off him in waves. “I should have asked your permission, not just informed you after-the-fact. I guess it was just easier to decide that your silence meant you had given your consent.”

“Would it have made any difference?” She asked, genuinely curious. “If I had said no, requested you to take me out of the book, would you have done it? Could you have?”

Jughead winced and tugged nervously at the hem of his shirt, expression pensive. “I’d like to say I would have, but I don’t know. You’d solved the case when I couldn’t. It would’ve felt dishonest taking credit for it, even if it was just my literary proxy. Of course, what I did was so much worse than dishonesty, especially knowing how much you suffered in the public eye after your experience with The Hood.”

“It made me feel…exposed. Even though you say you changed my character’s name, it was still me. It’s just hard for me to process total strangers knowing intimate details about my life. Again. You’ll never know what it was like for me to get those phone calls from The Black Hood. He was watching me all the time, knew what time I brushed my teeth, what I ate for breakfast, which book I had on my bedside table...” Betty rubbed the strip of skin between her eyes with her thumb to ease a pressure headache forming behind her eyes. “I still jump a little every time I hear my phone ring.”

“God, and after what happened at my house…it’s like I can’t stop traumatizing you.” Jughead’s jaw clenched repeatedly.

“That was the job.” She reached out and gingerly touched his arm for a moment before pulling away. “I don’t blame you for that. I know what I signed on for.” Jughead’s re-emergence in her life was bringing up long-buried feelings she’d spent so much time trying to cast out. She didn’t know how to make sense of them, but she knew that she couldn’t stay angry. It wasn’t healthy, and she also just didn’t want to. “I forgive you, Juggie.”

His jaw dropped, clearly taken off guard. “You don’t have to, Betty. I’m not even sure I can forgive myself.”

“I want to.” She kept her voice carefully blank to avoid revealing any vulnerability. “I can tell you regret it. You were young and careless and you made a mistake. Also, it’s the least I can do, after the way you took care of me at the Wyrm—” 

“You don’t owe me your forgiveness,” Jughead snapped, quickly closing the space between them. “Not after I stole your life and then hid from you like a coward.”

“I need to forgive you, okay? Can you please just let me?” Both of her hands were over her face now and she shook her head. It hurt too much to look at him. “And you’re here now, owning up to what you’ve done. You’re not a coward.”

Betty felt his hands wrap around her wrists - like he’d done earlier at the bar - and tug them gently from her face.

“I am a coward,” He whispered, hands still a solid presence on her skin, “…and not just about the book.” 

Betty glanced at him and nearly flinched at his intensity. “Oh?”

“It took me a year to finish writing the book because I couldn’t get it right.” He leaned further into her space, stopping just inches from her face. “My story didn’t feel complete without you in it.” 

He didn’t just mean the book, that much was obvious, and if she were a more professional agent she would have just walked away and left the room. Instead, she drew closer, the last vestiges of her case objectivity now vaporized. The thoughts she was having, alone, would have been enough to earn her a suspension, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “Do you really mean that?”

His eyes dropped to her lips. “Betty, do you still honestly not know how absolutely extraordinary you are?” 

Betty hiccupped a breath, too scared to move. Her back was already pressed as far as it could go against the cold wall of Veronica’s foyer. The Lodge family portrait looked down at her with mute disapproval. Just one step forward and she could be ruining her career. She hesitated, and his warm breath ghosted across her cheek as he waited to see what she would do.

Just then, a key rattled in the front door lock and they leapt apart like guilty teenagers.

 

* * *

 

_A weight across Betty’s lap pressing against her bladder woke her from her sleep and she glanced at the red digital numbers on the cheap hotel room clock. It was 4:30 in the morning, but she could see through the parted curtain the sky was still dark outside, so decided this encounter still qualified as a one-night stand._

_You’re not supposed to hang around and eat breakfast together after a one-nighter (at least she thought?). Of course, she was basing this knowledge entirely on movies she’d see since this was the first time she’d done this._

_Betty looked down and saw nothing but a mop of black hair covering her midriff. It was nice hair, silky, and she’d very much enjoyed running her fingers through it last night — no, it was still night -- but the average human head weighed 8 pounds and all of his was sitting on her belly, making her feel like she had to use the bathroom. She tried to shift his weight, but he was too heavy to budge and she was too hung over to really give it her all. Instead, she began to shimmy out from under him only to feel his arms tighten around her legs a moment later._

_His breathing pattern changed and she went still for a moment, hoping not to have woken him, then tried to escape once again, but was met with more resistance._

_“You’re awake,” She said, accusingly, and her stomach vibrated with his laugh. “It’s not funny, Juggie, your heavy head is making me have to pee.”_

_A hand snaked up the inside of one of her naked legs and cupped her between the thighs. The heel of his palm pressed firmly against her and Betty gasped sharply at the contact. “Juggie, what are y—?”_

_“—shhhh,” He whispered as if trying to calm an upset child. “It feels better when you have to pee. More intense.”_

_“How would you kn—?” She was about to argue with him when two of his fingers slipped inside of her and curled up, rubbing against her g-spot. “Holy fuck…”_

_Her stomach vibrated once again with his laughter and she couldn’t help but join in._

_“Told you.” He kissed his way down from her stomach and shoved his face between her legs. Embarrassed by how dirty she must have been after the sex they’d already had, Betty tried to pull back, but his hands pressed her thighs open like a wine opener. “Hold still, jellyfish.”_

_She grabbed two handfuls of his hair and angled his face up to look at her. “Come on, this can’t do it for you. I’m so filthy now. We’ve had sex already like…two times? That doesn’t even include the other stuff.”_

_“I know, Betty, I was there.” Jughead grinned at her, then licked a wide stripe from her clit up to her bellybutton and dipped his tongue inside. “And you’re wrong, this is definitely doing it for me and you calling it ‘filthy’ is only making me harder,” He said and brushed the length of his entire body over hers. He was warm from sleep, slightly sticky with sweat, and she sighed at the drag of his skin. He pressed his heavy cock against her hip to make a point, then dropped a chaste kiss on her chin. “Believe me now?”_

_She laughed and covered her face with her hands, embarrassed by how turned her she was from something so minor. He turned her on practically every time he touched her. “I believed you before. I’m just self-conscious, I guess.”_

_He pulled her hands from her eyes and kissed each one before pinning them both above her head, his body flush against hers. “Look at you.” His eyes raked down her curves slowly, like a touchless caress, and a blush bloomed in her cheeks. “What do you have to feel self-conscious about?”_

_She looked into his eyes and could tell it was a genuine question, which was somewhat shocking to her. She had a hell of a lot to feel self-conscious about, couldn’t he see that?_

_Betty shrugged. “Everything?”_

_Jughead’s lips parted in question. “You know you’re a knock-out, right?”_

_She groaned and turned to press her face into the pillow, but his hold on her arms prevented her from moving. “Okay, yes. I’m a knockout,” She repeated, in a mocking tone._

_“Betty, I’m serious.” He looked directly into her eyes, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “You are far and away the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever put my penis into, and I’m not just talking about the way you look…though that is definitely a major draw. Everything about you, and I mean everything, is amazing. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”_

_He was gazing so intently at her, his face so open and unguarded that Betty had to look away. How was it that some people allowed themselves to just blurt out loud how they felt about everything when it was hard enough for her to even listen to them, much less do the same. “That was almost sweet, until the part where you started referring to the times you put your penis into other women.”_

_Jughead chuckled, then pressed his face into the crook of her neck and nuzzled the skin behind her left ear. “I don’t know who did such a number on you that you can’t see what I do, but I’m going keep saying it until you believe me.”_

_“Get up here,” Betty breathed out, urgently pushing his shoulders back so she could look at him. She held him by the face, her eyes dancing over his features, trying to remember what he looked like for those lonely nights in far-off towns she’d have to endure soon for her job. “You’re pretty special, you know that?”_

_His body tensed above her, expression falling into an awkward echo of what she must’ve looked like minutes earlier. “I believe the word you’re looking for is strange.”_

_“Yeah, that too, but also special.” Her fingertips traced the side of his jaw, circled his limpid eyes and brushed down his aquiline nose, finally settling on his lips. “Also, your eyes are so dreamy and blue, they remind me a little of Elvis.”_

_“Costello?” He joked, eyes lighting with amusement at her compliment. “I sincerely hope you’re thinking of hunky, mid-century Elvis, and not fat, Vegas-era Elvis.”_

_“You were right the first time,” She said, smirking. “I was actually talking about Elvis Costello.”_

_Jughead poked her sides in rapid succession, sending her into a fit of giggles. “Joke’s on you doll, because I happen to be a big fan of proto-punk.”_

_She rolled her eyes at him, still laughing. “Of course you are.”_

_He looked down at her, his mood suddenly turning wistful. She knew what he was about to say before he even opened his mouth._

_“Betts—”_

_“No,” She said firmly, shaking her head. “We knew what this was going into it.”_

_Jughead expelled a weary sigh and started again, voice pitched even softer. “Betty, who’s going to hold us to that? We’re allowed to change our minds.”_

_He had been glib almost the entire night, so naturally, he chose this moment - and this topic - to drop his aloof act. The sudden shift in tone left Betty unmoored. She was scared that he might actually mean what he was suggesting, but she was even more frightened that he didn’t._

_“I don’t even know where I’m going to live, Jug.” She bit her lip and tried to keep herself together. “Or even for how long. I have no control over my future.”_

_He brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and smoothed it down behind her ear. “What if I said I didn’t care about any of that?”_

_“How could you not care?” Betty’s face scrunched up at the mere idea of embracing chaos. “You wouldn’t know when you’d get see me, or even if you’d even get to see me, how long you’d have to travel…”_

_“I think—” He stared into the ether, head cocked as if trying to decide something, then nodded to himself. “I know it would be worth it. And things won’t be like that forever, eventually, you’ll get assigned to a permanent field office.”_

_Betty’s jaw fell open at his proposal. He was willing to put his entire life in limbo, go weeks or months without sex, accept whatever scraps and pieces of a normal life she was able to give him, all for what? For a few fleeting encounters with her? How could he be so certain after one short weekend that she was worth all that trouble, especially when even she didn’t think she was?_

_Betty wasn’t an idiot, she knew he understood her, fit her in a way she’d probably never find again. She wanted to say yes to him so badly, which is exactly why she couldn’t. He deserved better than what she could give him. She swallowed hard to keep herself from crying. “I’m so sorry, Jug.”_

_“I know you feel this thing that’s between us, this connection. Don’t deny it.”_ _He appeared calm, but_ _an undercurrent of anger clung to his words like wet ash_. _“You’re just scared, and maybe part of you thinks you don’t deserve my devotion, but you have it anyway.”_

_A hitch escaped Betty’s lips and she squeezed her eyes shut to block him out. “Why did you have to come into my life now? The universe couldn’t have waited two or three years to throw you in my path?”_

_“Stop anthropomorphizing the universe,” He teased, peppering her faces with tiny kisses until she relaxed. “Look, I don’t want to make your life more difficult. If a memory is all you can give me now, then we’ll make it a good one. And maybe one day when your life is less complicated, if you still think about me, you can ask Archie for my number?”_

_“Of course I’ll still think about you, don’t be stupid. I’ve never met anybody like you before either.” Betty arched off the bed and pressed her lips to his, her hands framing his face to hold him there. “Thank you.” Her legs wrapped around his waist and she lifted her pelvis to brush against his. “We still have some time to make one more really good memory, right?” She lifted one of his hands to her breast._

_“Yes,” He groaned against her lips as the tip of his cock nudged at her entrance. “God, yes.”_

_“This isn’t the end, Jug.” Betty’s blood felt like fire and she gasped into his mouth as he filled her slowly, carefully, before easing back out. “Our story is not over.”_

_“I know. I know,” He whispered, filling her once again._

 

* * *

 

Equal parts relief and disappointment coursed through Betty’s body. She shoved her hands - still shaking - into her pockets to hide the bandages.

A mumbled curse left Jughead’s lips as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Jughead, go. Veronica will be more receptive to the questions if you’re not hanging around nearby making her defensive.” Betty gestured emphatically for him to leave the room.

He frowned at the order and Betty worried for a moment he might fight her on it, but he eventually relented, aiming one last lingering look at her before turning his back to leave.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Betty whispered to herself, trying to steady her breathing. “What the fuck were you about to do?”

The door flung open and Veronica entered the apartment scowling, barely sparing Betty a glance before dumping her handbag on the nearest table. “I know somebody’s trying to kill Jughead, but did you have to use the deadbolt? I’m likely to kill him myself just to avoid having to wrestle with that thing one more time.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Betty said, singing her words in attempting to appear chipper. Normal.

Veronica turned her head and did a double-take at Betty’s clothes as if she’d forgotten she’d spend an hour this morning dressing her like a doll. “So, was Earnest Hemingway actually able to keep his paws off you in that outfit?"

"Sort of." A hot flush climbed Betty's neck and willed herself to calm down. “But, we were pretending to be a couple at the bar so I don’t think it counts.” 

“Nothing happened in the back of the cab on the ride home?" 

“We took his bike.” Betty’s heart rate increased at the memory of feeling the warmth of his body in her arms.

“Oh, I was sure he would’ve made a move on you.” Veronica sounded a little disheartened, making Betty feel momentarily bad for keeping yet another secret from her. “Wait -  _you_  rode a motorcycle? In  _those_ shorts?”

“Do shorts with hemlines this skimpy still qualify as shorts or are they just larger underwear?” Betty pressed her hands more firmly in the fraying pockets of her distressed jean shorts. “Hey, um, how are you feeling? I know you mentioned afternoons sometimes being rough.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Veronica winked at Betty and started toward the kitchen, motioning for Betty to follow. “I felt a bit sick this morning, but then I made Archie go down on me for 20 minutes and now I have a second lease on life.”

“That’s…cool?” Betty wasn’t sure if that was an appropriate response, but it wasn't like Veronica ever said anything appropriate either - and she did it on purpose. “So, I was wondering if I could talk to you about Jughead.”

“Gracias a Madre! Finally!” Veronica brought her hands together in prayer and looked toward the heavens. “Yes, girl, tell me everything. Start at the beginning and don’t you dare leave any details out.” 

“I wasn’t, um, not about that. I meant the attempted murder?” Knowing that Jughead was possibly nearby eavesdropping added a whole other dimension of awkward to the conversation.

“Boo hiss,” grumbled Veronica, her disappointment palpable, then shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, yes, of course, we can talk about that, but I’d much rather talk about the other thing.”

Betty forced a pained smile, paranoid that Veronica felt the heat from her almost-encounter with Jughead radiating through the front door. If things had progressed any further, she would’ve had a front-row seat to the show. “There is no ‘other thing’, Veronica.” 

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Sure, Jan.”

Betty decided to ignore this part of the conversation and focus on her agenda. “You just came back from Lodge Industries’ quarterly shareholders' meeting, right?”

Veronica grabbed the kettle from the stove top and filled it with bottled water as she spoke. “I did. What does this have to do with Jughead being shot at?”

“I’m not sure yet if it does,” Betty answered honestly and bit her lip to keep herself from changing course. “Somebody has been buying up land on the Southside and your family’s company was mentioned.”

“And?” Veronica pulled two mugs down from a high cabinet, placed two artisanal mint tea bags into each one and flipped the gas on under the kettle. “Daddy’s company is always mentioned when anything happens in the commercial real estate market.”

“Whoever is buying the land is violating fair business practices, pushing people out, and shutting businesses down overnight.”

Veronica's brow wrinkled in thought. “Oh, you’re talking about the SoDale project? Yeah, that’s us,” She said, sounding completely unperturbed for a woman whose family might be gentrifying a poor neighborhood in the most ruthless way possible. “What does that have to do with Jughead?”

“He’s on the deed to the Whyte Wyrm.” Betty searched Veronicas face for any sign she already knew this information but found none there. “His dad mentioned your company unsuccessfully tried to buy the place from him a few times.”

“I didn’t know that Jug co-owned the place, but that’s welcome news. Maybe he can convince his dad that selling is the right move? It’ll just speed the process along. I mean, they’re going to sell to Lodge eventually,” She declared this as if it were a foregone conclusion.

Betty wondered what the reason behind Veronica’s over-confidence was. “Okay, but, what will you do if they won’t?” 

“No, you don’t understand, Betty. They  _will_ sell, maybe not now, but eventually. They all do. Those business that disappeared overnight were just eager beavers, most of the owners hadn’t seen that much money in their lives and we hadn’t even offered them much.”

“Why would they sell their land for less than it’s worth?”

“Right now, their land is worth practically nothing and dropping steadily, especially as they have no idea what we plan to do with it.”

“And what do you plan to do with it,” Betty asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously at her friend.

“We’re building a Soylent Green factory, Betty,” She said, seriously, expression dead flat until she broke out into a grin. “B! What do you think we’re building? Just the normal gentrification shit.”

Betty felt a bit ashamed that she’d inadvertently implied Veronica might have been involved with something sinister. “No, I guess I’m just wondering what made the property value fall?”

“The area was beginning to appreciate slightly, so Daddy paid a bunch of Serpents to hang out at the few family establishments Northsiders actually felt safe visiting, making them déclassé and dragging their property value down,” Veronica explained, as if completely oblivious to the muddied ethics of this kind of business practice. “After that, people were jumping to unload their land when we came knocking.”

Betty felt instantly sick. “Your Dad tricked Southsiders into screwing themselves?”

Veronica looked almost offended by the suggestion. “How is it a trick if everything is completely transparent? The Serpents were the ones being paid to loiter, they just didn’t put two-and-two together, didn’t realize their mere presence was enough to drive away buyers. Is it our fault they don’t understand the basic rules of a free market economy?” Off Betty’s horrified look, Veronica’s confidence began to falter. “It’s not like what Daddy did was illegal…was it?” 

Betty was sure there were laws against using nefarious means to affect prices in the real estate market, but any good lawyer would be able to find a loophole and Hiram Lodge definitely had a stable of good lawyers at his disposal. Betty would bookmark this topic for discussion at a future time. “Okay, but the Wyrm? How can you be so sure they’ll sell?”

“Who is going to pay to drink there once their entire clientèle base has left for greener pastures? Between us, if F.P. Jones were smart he’d hang on to that land until just before the tipping point and not a moment later. You can tell your boyfriend that, but I will ban his ass from brunch for a full year if he says anything to Daddy about it.” Veronica arched her brow to punctuate the statement.

“He’s not my—”

“Hold the phone, Betty!” Veronica chirped, just as the kettle began to whistle and turned the gas off. “Wait—you don’t have the screwy idea that my parents are the ones trying to murder Jughead, do you? Over some stupid problem, they could just throw money at?”

“God, V, of course, I don’t believe they’re involved,” Betty said, realizing now that she actually meant it. “However, I’m still obligated to follow every lead I’m given.”

“I get that.” Veronica lifted the kettle from the stove, filled both mugs with water and then handed one to Betty. “But you could have just explained that from the start and saved me the whole song and dance.”

“You’re right, Veronica, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to be cagey.” Betty dunked her tea bag a few times to help it steep, making sure to keep her palm closed to hide her bandage.

Veronica shrugged. “I’ll forgive you, but you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

Betty sighed, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. “You get to ask me one question about him and that’s it.”

“Three,” Veronica demanded, pushing her bottom lip out into a fake pout. “My feelings were hurt.”

Betty laughed at her friend’s transparent attempt at manipulation. “Two, because we both know that’s a lie.”

“Fine, two. And my first one is, have you two had any ‘moments’ since you met each other again at his house? Any sparks?” She took a sip of tea and waited for the answer.

“No.” Betty tried to keep a straight face, but knew Veronica would be able to tell she was lying anyway. 

“That’s your fibbing face, so we’ll come back to that one later.” She waved a hand in the air, dismissing the line of questioning. “But, tell me this - and don’t you dare try to lie to me because I’ll know - did you hook up with him at my wedding?”

“Well…” Betty unconsciously smiled at the memory, her eye glazing over in thought.

“Woah, that good?” Veronica pulled herself on to the counter, then crossed her legs as if settling in for a long movie. “Do tell.”

“God, why are you making me do this?” Betty released a frustrated growl at the ceiling. “It was good, okay?” Veronica raised an eyebrow at her, making Betty squirm. “Okay, it was amazing, the best I’ve ever had. Are you satisfied?” She asked, nearly at her wit’s end.

“Not yet, sugar, but it sure sounds like you were.” Instead of the gloating, Betty thought she’d be subjected to, Veronica smiled knowingly. “This is why he wrote about you, isn’t it? The main character in his book? I didn’t catch it at first since I hadn’t realized you’d spent any real time together. But, now that I know, I can see she was you right down to the tight, blonde ponytail.”

“I never read the book,” Betty admitted, already feeling unease from the recognition. “But yeah, he told me he based her on me. We actually had a bit of an argument about it just before you got here. He never cleared it with me.”

“Oh.” Veronica frowned, looking mildly displeased. “I’d have thought he would have been more of a gentleman than that. Especially since—well, you didn’t read it, so you couldn’t know, but his alter ego was desperately in love with your character.”

“What?” Betty was still feeling raw from her conversation with Jughead, and she wasn’t sure how much more new information she could handle. 

Veronica let out an I pressed whistle. “He was quite pinched up for a guy you only spent 48 hours with. I don’t know what you did to him, but it sure as hell made an impression on the poor boy.”

Betty wasn’t one to dump her emotional baggage on the sidewalk for everybody to see, but it did feel good to finally let her best friend know what had happened at her wedding. “We stayed up all night drinking and working on his case, and then we…well, we connected.” She wrinkled her nose at the double-entendre.

“Did you ‘connect’ more than once?” Veronica’s shoe tapped against the countertop she was sitting on.

Betty exhaled on a laugh, her whole body flushing at the memory. “We connected all night long, actually. I’m not sure we even got any sleep.”

“Betty FitzGerald Kennedy Cooper! Why on Earth wouldn’t you tell me you had a spiritually transgressive bang-a-thon with my husband’s weird-yet-adorable friend? Did you think I would judge you?” Veronica’s hurt expression looked genuine this time.

“I know you wouldn’t have. It just felt…I don’t know, private…special?” Betty couldn’t believe she was admitting this out loud.

Veronicas face softened. “Well, apparently, he felt the same way because Archiekins would have definitely spilled the beans if he had known about it. My hubby is especially crap at keeping secrets from me. Especially sexy ones.” 

“I mean, he wanted us to keep seeing each other, but you know how my life has been.” Betty bit her lip. “Maybe he didn’t tell Archie because he was embarrassed about it in the light of day?”

Veronica seemed thoughtful for a moment as she nursed her tea. “He wrote a book about you, Betty. That’s practically like taking out an ad in the New York Times wedding announcements section. Who knew you were so incredible in the sack?" 

"Veronica!"

"I'm not saying that's the only reason he likes you!" She lifted her hands in mea culpa. "Look, you're both paranoid, obsessed with murder, and have giant feelings about almost everything. I'm mad at myself for not realizing sooner what a good match you two make. That boy is a smitten kitten." 

“I don't know, he—” Betty flashed back to the look Jughead gave her when he called her extraordinary and her words trailed off.

Veronica perched forward on the counter. “Come on, it’s obvious he requested you from the bureau because he wanted to see you. He could’ve had anybody if he were just looking for protection. I didn’t even realize it was possible to make personnel requests to the government.”

“He refused to accept protection otherwise. He kind of backed them into a corner, I guess?”

“Girl!” Veronica banged the countertop with her fist and leveled Betty with a look. “He coerced the government just at the chance of getting another taste of you! You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me nothing happened today.” 

“Nothing happened!” Betty squeaked, a little too loudly. “And nothing can happen. Ever.” 

Veronica set her mug down next to her and crossed her arms, a look of steely determination in her eyes. “There’s nothing stopping you once you finish this case and you know it. Not unless you tell me you don’t  _want_  anything to happen, but that would be as fake as Natalie Portman’s current nose. I know you claim you don’t ‘do’ normal relationships,” She said, crooking her fingers into air quotes, “but Jughead is not a normal guy, so just think about it, okay? Put the poor guy out of his misery, run off together and have paranoid, over-educated babies.” 

Betty slapped one hand to her forehead in lieu of another denial.  

“Great!” Veronica tapped her knees in finality, taking Betty’s response as a surrender, and slid off the countertop to her feet. “Now, I’m going to take a nap, because this kid is an asshole who made my feet too swollen to fit comfortably into designer shoes today.”

Betty spontaneously threw her arms around her friend and felt Veronica’s hands pull her in tighter. “Thank you, and I’m sorry I accused your family of being evil.”

“That’s okay.” Veronica pulled back and smiled. “You wouldn’t be the first to besmirch the Lodge family name. But hey, at least we’re not the Blossoms, right?”

Veronica left Betty standing alone in the kitchen, visions of Jessica Rabbit suddenly filling her head. Maybe it was time she paid the Blossom family a visit?

 

* * *

 

“Finally!” Jughead shouted, giving Betty a start, the moment she walked into her guest room. 

“Jesus!” She clutched a hand to her chest and tried to will her heartbeat to slow down. “Whatever happened to ‘hello’?” 

He ran a hand through his messy hair – now thoroughly – charmingly – out of place, and seemed genuinely contrite. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m just a little keyed up.”

It was obvious judging by the figure eight pattern in the pile carpet he had paced the entire time she was gone. 

It was hard for Betty to concentrate on Veronica’s advice rattling around in her head, but she managed a tender smile. “I get it. This is important.”

“Yes.” He stood in the middle of the room, arms awkwardly hanging by his sides, as he waited quietly for her to continue speaking.

“It’s not the Lodges, Jug.” Betty wasn’t sure why it felt like she was breaking bad news when neither of them wanted the Lodges to be guilty. 

He visibly deflated at the information. “You’re sure.”

She nodded and perched herself on the foot of her bed. “They’re definitely guilty of a lot of shady stuff, but I don’t think attempted murder is one of them - of you, at least.” 

He shot her a lopsided grin, clearly getting her meaning, and sat next to her on the mattress. “Well, I guess I can fire that food taster I had on retainer.” 

“I’d hold off if I were you, just in case Veronica decides to cook dinner.” She bumped his shoulder with her own. 

“So…what now?” He glanced at her through the corner of his eye, hands gripping each other nervously on his lap. “Tall Boy?”

“I was thinking maybe I should interview the Blossoms.”

“You mean  _we_  should interview the Blossoms,” He said, correcting her.

Betty shifted to face him. “Probably not the safest move to show up at the house of a woman who is potentially trying to kill you.”

He turned his head, snarling at her, “You were assigned to protect me, Betty. If you’re really worried about making me an easy target, why don’t you start by not abandoning me to the elements in my time of need?”

Betty blinked at the naked vitriol in his tone. “I’m—I would never—“

Jughead groaned and flopped backward on the bed. “I didn’t mean that, I was frustrated.” His hand shot out to grab her wrist, his thumb brushing over the top of her hand in apology. “I’m sorry I’m such an asshole when I’m under pressure.”

The sight of him sprawled on the mattress, hair mussed, a look of vulnerability in his eyes caught her off guard and she drew in a shuddering breath. “I understand.”

His hand was still latched to her arm, a silent invitation. The temptation was too great, so she forced her eyes to a safer location.

“Betts.” His voice was tight and scratchy and his hand slipped down her arm to her hand, which he squeezed affectionately. His thumb began to make circles on the pulse point of her wrist, so gentle she could barely feel them. “Please look at me.”

Betty followed his instructions, taking a deep breath before opening her eyes. This couldn’t go on, whatever this was. She had to be the responsible one and put an end to it. “What do you want from me, Jug?” 

“What do you mean?” He asked, playing dumb. 

She shot him a sly look. “You know what I mean.” 

The circles on her wrist grew more insistent as Jughead began to speak. “The same thing you want from me, except I’m not too scared to admit it to myself.” 

Betty wasn’t expecting him to be so explicit and struggled to keep her composure. “It’s my job t—“ 

“You think I don’t know that?” He snapped, looking frustrated, his hand tightening around hers. 

She expelled a loud sigh, then laid down on the mattress next to him and turned on her side to face him. 

“It’s all I think about,” He said, continuing his thought, voice getting more pained and desperate as he spoke. “And I know I fucked everything up before, and that I could be jeopardizing your job now, but I can’t keep it to myself anymore, not when I’m feeling so full I could explode. I’ve waited three years to see you again. You said our story wasn’t over, Betty. I still believe that.” 

It was overwhelming, and the most beautiful thing anybody had ever said to her. Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to process his intent and how she felt about it. But, did it even matter when they couldn't act on it anyway? Her mouth opened - ready to tell him this - but he interrupted her again before she could speak. 

“Don’t you dare tell me that you’re sorry, Betts.  _Please_  don’t tell me that you can’t or that we shouldn’t. All of that is just noise we can work around.” He pressed their linked hands to his cheek and leaned into them. “I just want to know how you really feel about me. I need to know if I’m crazy thinking you still want…look, whatever you say I promise I won’t hold you to it.”

A tear escaped her eye and Jughead wiped it from her cheek with his thumb, letting it graze the length of her cheekbone. 

“I want you,” She stated, simply, her chest painfully tight. “People like you aren’t easy to find. You’re strange and special and of course I still want you, Jughead. I never stopped.” 

His face broke into a relieved grin. “Thank God.”

Jughead’s hand fisted her hair and they closed the gap between them, mouths pressed together, hot and messy. She parted her lips and wet slide of their tongues brushing against other sent a shiver through her body. Jughead rolled closer, both of his hands now tangled in her hair, and for the second time in her life Betty just let everything go. At that moment, her job didn’t exist, nobody was trying to kill Jughead, and they had all the time in the world to explore each other in new and old ways.

A loud boom shook the building's foundation, rocking her bed frame. Several fire alarms in the surrounding neighborhood began to sound, like a cacophony of wild birds warning each other of a predator.

Jughead startled and hugged Betty to his chest. “What the f—“

The vibrations from a second, smaller explosion quickly chased the first.

"Shit!" Betty scrambled to her feet – followed closely by Jughead – then rushed to the window and flung open the drapes. Billows of thick grey smoke emanated from the ground floor of the parking structure directly across the street.

The cry of a frightened baby cut through the din. 

“Where did you park the bike?” Betty grabbed a handful of Jughead’s shirt, twisting her fingers into the fabric like he was some ephemeral thing that could be carried off with the slightest breeze. 

“There.” Jughead pointed to the burning parking garage, then wrapped a shaky arm around Betty and pulled her into his chest, his hand cupping the side of her head as if it could protect her from whatever malevolent, unquantifiable danger lurked just on the other side of the glass. “I gave the key to the valet for him to park it.” 

If the explosion originated from Jughead’s bike, there was no way that valet survived.

“If your bike was the reason for that explosion, then it was meant for you, Jug.” She looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears, feeling completely out of her depth. “I don’t know if I can protect you from this. It’s gotten too big." 

He responded by pressing a kiss to the center of her forehead and pulling her even closer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a monster to finish, so if you enjoyed it and have the time, I would love to know what you thought of everything. As always, I appreciate every comment, rec post, kudos, and kind thought. Thank you so much for reading!


	7. Mythical Creatures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how this happened, but I ended writing an entire chapter in a day (throughout the night, too). If this installation is terrible, blame the lack of sleep. If it turns out to be awesome, it's a total accident.
> 
> WARNING: My finger slipped and I accidentally wrote BDSM. This chapter is super duper explicit and dabbles in sexual themes (see new tags) that may not be everybody's cup of tea. This will not be turning into a PWP, but - like in the show - Betty's sexuality is explored and her unique tastes are a major part of what draws her to Jughead. I promise everything involves enthusiastic consent and has been written as responsibly as somebody who is not a member of FetLife can manage. 
> 
> As always, Unbeta'd and probably riddled with errors. Enjoy!

 

Betty pulled her phone from her pocket and texted her superior, then shut the drapes, manhandled Jughead toward a walk-in closet, and pulled the gun from the back of her shorts. “Stay in here while I check on Veronica.”

 

Before Betty could run off, Jughead grabbed her arm. “Be careful.”

 

The door to the room flew open and Veronica – wrapped in a silky purple kimono – rushed in and locked the door behind them. “Please tell me that explosion was not Jughead-related.” Her eyes dropped to where Jughead was gripping Betty’s arm and she smirked.

 

“That’s what I’m waiting to find out.” As if on cue, Betty’s phone vibrated and she checked the text. “Shit, this isn’t good. We need to get out of here.”

 

“Maybe you were right, Betty? This is too much for one person to handle. I could just go somewhere and lay low for a while, let things calm down.” Jughead’s eyes were wide and scared but also determined. “I’m not going to let anything happen to Veronica and the baby because of me. They must know by now that I’m staying here.”

 

Betty looked at her friend and Jughead and nodded. “It’s not a bad idea, but V has to leave, too. They come in here like gangbusters, they’re not going to care who gets caught in the crossfire.”

 

“I have a place you can hide, a lodge in the mountains a little over an hour from here, nobody even knows it exists. Daddy bought it off the books the last time he got in trouble, you know, just in case.” Veronica pulled her robe closer, walked to the bedside table, opened a drawer and pulled out a pad and pen. “I’m going to assume whoever is after Jug may have bugged my phone or this house, so I’ll just write everything down here. There are no numbers on the houses, no key to get in, just an entry code, and there’s money in the master bedroom safe if you need it - same code.” She furiously scribbled the information down and handed the pad to Betty.

 

“Get a burner phone and text me from that so we can stay in contact,” Betty instructed, before turning to Jughead. “Is your backpack still packed?”

 

“Yeah.” He seemed uncharacteristically quiet. “I think—“

 

“That’s my job,” Betty said curtly. “Your job is to get that backpack and come back to me in 30 seconds. Understand?” 

 

“Okay, yes.” He said, taking one last look at her before starting for the door.

 

Betty realized at that moment he’d been too compliant. “And Jughead, don’t you dare even think about being noble and running off. Not if you ever want to see me again.”

 

He stopped in his tracks, hand on the doorknob, and sighed heavily. “Understood.”

 

As soon as he’d left, Betty tossed her flannel, pulled down the hated jean shorts and changed into a pair of her dress slacks for work, then shoved everything she could into her bag. “I can’t believe he was just going to run off like that. It’s like he has zero self-preservation skills.”

 

“He’s got it bad for you,” Veronica said softly, fingers still pinching closed the neckline of her robe. “And, you’re more transparent than tulle. You can’t tell me nothing happened today. I don’t believe you.”

 

“This isn’t the time, V.” Betty zipped up her bag and began to fasten her gun holster under her arm, before donning her blazer. “And you should also be packing.”

 

Veronica shook her head. “I can send Andre out to buy anything I need. He already texted me that he intercepted Archie on his way back into the building and was pulling the car around for all of us.”

 

“Not all of us, Veronica. You’re not safe anywhere near Jughead and me.”

 

Veronica noticed Betty’s bandages. “What happened to your hands?”

 

“Just a few scrapes, nothing major.” Betty pulled the outer bandages off and tossed them in the nearest garbage can, leaving just the internal Band-Aids on her palms.

 

Betty could see Veronica doing the mental math, no doubt recalling Betty’s literary counterpart’s history of self-harm.

 

Jughead appeared at the door with his bag slung over his shoulder and quickly moved to grab Betty’s. When she looked like she was about to argue, he scoffed. “You’ll need both hands if you have to kill somebody, right?”

 

“Betty, how are you even going to get to the lodge if we don’t take you? Can you get an unregistered car?” Veronica gripped her shoulder, a wild look concern in her eyes. “I can’t have both my baby’s godparents murdered before she or he is even born.”

 

Betty threw her arms around Veronica and held her close. “We will be okay, we just need to get to the drop point and there will be a car waiting for us there. Is there a back way out of here?”

 

Veronica’s laugh suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d been in this position. “Several.”

 

* * *

  

Jughead and Betty managed to slip past the police presence on the street and reached the edge of the woods on foot. The soil was still damp from last night’s rain and invisible humidity lingered in the thickened air. For a town filled with so many rotten people, she found it ironic how everything was so bucolic, smelled so green and fresh.

 

She tried, during their hike, to get her office to assign extra agents to Jughead’s detail. They had been reluctant to spare more agents simply to protect one, not-very-important man when there was no evidence that pointed to a greater community threat. But, her supervisor did concede to have analysts investigate the attacks for any clues to whom the culprit might be. 

Overheated and flushed, Betty paused a moment to sloppily throw her hair into a bun. Stray strands of hair clung wetly to the back of her neck, her sweaty skin made her jacket feel tight, but they couldn’t stop now. She had to keep them moving before the indigo light of dusk turned midnight blue. The car was just on the other side of the woods, but a large property blocked direct access to the road and they’d have to go around.

 

“Betty,” Jughead whispered, slowing his gait. “We’ve just stepped over Thistlehouse’s property line.”

 

The name sounded familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it. “Is that bad?”

 

“Thistlehouse is where Penelope and Cheryl Blossom moved after their house burned down.” His gaze dashed furtively toward a mansion, gothic and imposing, hovering close by. He was brimming with nervous energy, his fingers rhythmically toyed with the straps of their bags. “We could just go in for a m—“

 

“Are you crazy?” Betty asked, knowing exactly what he was about to suggest. “Somebody just tried to blow you up. We cannot go in there now.” She tried to tug Jughead away from Thistlehouse by his shirt, but he dug his heels in like a mule.

 

“I can’t live like this,” He groused, jaw beginning to tighten. “I know you want me to run and hide away forever, but where does it all end?”

 

“Not with you dead.” Betty reached for his face and angled him to look at her. “And it wouldn’t be forever, it would just be until we caught the guy.”

 

The skin underneath his eyes was purple and puffy from exhaustion, but there was still a spark of fight left in him. “I’d rather be dead than live like this, always checking over my shoulder, being afraid.”

 

“Don’t say that!” Betty’s stomach clenched at the mere suggestion. “How can you say you’d rather be dead when we just found each other again?”

 

Her words immediately deflated him, a soft smile displacing the scowl he'd worn since their escape from the Pembrooke. “You know how to hit below the belt, Cooper. But, isn’t that, aren’t  _we_ , more of a reason to finish this? I don’t want the specter of my possible murder hanging over us if we’re really going to try to be something one day.”

 

Him mentioning a potential relationship should not have astonished her the way it did. After all, he’d been upfront about the way he felt, far more than she had. But, regardless of what her heart wanted, she had her orders to take him directly out-of-town.

 

Then again, she also had orders not to get personally involved with somebody under her care, so she was now an expert at crossing lines. It should have been more disconcerting how willing she was to throw out her training, protocol, and everything she’d ever worked for just to keep him happy. “Will you actually follow orders this time and run if the shit hits the fan? Regardless of where I am?”

 

“Of course, Agent Cooper,” He said, but his grin suggested otherwise.

 

Betty should have been frustrated, but she hadn’t expected him to behave any way else. “You’re really impossible, you know that, right?”

 

He looked at her as if she were nuts. “Obviously.”

 

* * *

 

When Cheryl opened the door, her reputation did not disappoint. She was practically lounging against the door jamb, sheer, crimson, Marabou cover-up draped loosely over a matching bathing suit and wearing painful-looking heels. Betty wondered if this was what rich people did, casually hang around their homes in unseasonable clothing at six in the evening.

 

Betty never felt like more of a slob in her life, but still managed to plaster on her most professional smile. “Hel—”

 

“Who are you?” Cheryl demanded, in a bored voice, looking rather disappointed at the prospect of enduring Betty’s presence for a second longer than she had to. 

 

Betty glanced at Jughead, who was hiding just around the corner and tried to keep her composure. “Betty Cooper, ma’am.” She reached into her pocket to retrieve her badge. “I’m a—”

 

“Oh, you’re clearly new here.” Cheryl stopped Betty with a sharp smile and gestured with her chin toward Betty’s utilitarian jacket and slacks. “Mother’s  _friends_ usually use the side entrance.” She extended her toned arm and waved a limp hand toward the right side of her house.

 

Cheryl’s stiff expression broadcasted her feelings about her mother’s work, but she still had enough good breeding to be polite. “Can I take your…blazer? _”_ Her bright red lips curled around the word as if it were a curse. “If you would kindly wait for mother in the solarium, she will be along presently.”

 

Betty was so shocked by the exchange she almost started laughing. “Ms. Blossom, I’m actually here for you. I’m not one of your mother’s  _friends_.”

 

Cheryl glanced over her shoulder into the house, stepped out on the porch and narrowed the door behind her. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, and believe me I'm flattered – you’re cute in a pre-makeover Tai from ‘Clueless’ sort of way – but I don’t really do that kind of thing. I’m also a taken woman.”

 

The conversation had gotten away from Betty in the most surreal way possible.

 

“Girlfriend Betty?” A familiar voice shouted from behind the door, which slowly opened, revealing Toni wearing a matching bathing suit and cover-up. “What are you doing here?”

 

Cheryl looked between them, eyes keen, then turned on her girlfriend. “T.T., this better not be a ménage situation, because you know I do not share well with others.”

 

“Baby, you know I have a look-but-don’t-touch policy with anyone who isn’t you,” Toni cooed in a low voice, which seemed to placate Cheryl. “Anyway, Girlfriend Betty isn’t into girls and she’s too far gone on somebody else, so it’s a nonstarter.”

 

The entire situation had veered wildly into David Lynch territory at a breathless rate and Betty was apparently helpless to stop it. “Listen, I—”

 

“What the fuck, Toni?” Jughead spat as he emerged from behind the corner, incandescent with rage. “Of all the women in Riverdale you could have fucked, you chose  _this one_?” He pointed to Cheryl as if she were a pile of dog shit.

 

Totally unaffected by Jughead’s anger, Cheryl rolled her eyes then folded her arms impatiently. “T., I thought you said Cook took the trash out earlier?”

 

Toni stepped closer to Jughead, hands clenched. “I don’t need you to approve the people I sleep with, Jones, and she’s not just a bang. What I’d like to know is why Girlfriend Betty, here, is packing heat and dressed like a fed.” She pointed to the holster peeking out from under Betty’s arm.

 

“Girlfriend Betty is a fed,” Betty admitted, closing her jacket to cover her gun. “Mind if we come inside?”

 

Toni shook her head and used her body to block the entrance. “Not without a warrant, lady.”

 

“Ugh, this isn’t a telenovela, people. Shall we bring the drama inside where the neighbors can’t peep?” Cheryl pushed open the door and ushered them all into the house, much to Toni’s irritation. Cheryl snorted as Jughead passed her. “I don’t need them thinking we've turned Thistlehouse into a homeless shelter.” 

 

* * *

  

In a room brimming with too many plants and expensive, creepy knickknacks from several bygone eras, Betty sat next to Jughead who was tensely perched on the edge of an uncomfortable and ornate antique sofa. Situated directly across from them, on a matching loveseat, were Toni and Cheryl.

 

For an argument that contained no real words spoken, Toni and Jughead were being almost deafeningly loud.

 

“Serpents be cray, am I right?” Cheryl purred to Betty in a saccharine tone. “So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? I assume this has something to do with the recent attacks on your hobo boyfriend?”

 

“If he even  _is_  her boyfriend,” Toni mumbled while continuing to shoot eye-daggers at Jughead.

 

Cheryl looked at Jughead and Betty, and a Cheshire grin overtook her face. “Oh, I’m definitely sensing a sexual history here.” She pointed at each of them with a long red nail. “They’re sitting a little too close for this to be professional. ‘8-Mile’ here is gagging to argue with me but keeps glancing over at the Plain One for permission.”

 

“She realizes we’re in the room, right?” Betty turned to ask Jughead, her shoulder rubbing up against his in the process.

 

Cheryl grabbed Toni’s knee. “Ah! See right there – that shoulder brush – they definitely want to have gross, average person hetero-sex, but they haven’t yet…or at least haven’t in a long time. You can by the way the one with the hat keeps leaning into her like he’s desperate for more contact.”

 

Jughead’s expression went blank, he bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Cheryl, I’ve called you a witch many times in the past but I’ve never literally meant it before now. What the supernatural fuck?”

 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Jones,” Cheryl sang, then threw her head back and laughed with abandon, before turning her attention back to Betty. “So, should we get on with the grand interrogation, then?”

 

Betty found the Blossom scion eccentric in more ways than she could count, but she wasn’t getting any sort of murderous vibe from the woman. Still, she had to cross her T’s. “You seem pretty relaxed for a person who was just told they were a suspect in an attempted murder case.”

 

Betty’s phone buzzed just then and she quickly checked the text and showed it to Jughead. “The bomb was on a timer. Nobody was seriously hurt.”

 

Jughead’s eyes shut tightly at the news and exhaled roughly. “This has to end before more people get hurt or—or worse because of me.”

 

Betty dropped her hand on his shoulder and he immediately covered it with his own.

 

Toni’s eyebrows raised and her expression softened. “Huh. Guess Girlfriend Betty isn’t just a cover story.”

 

“I know this whole town thinks I’m a crazy bitch,” Cheryl started, suddenly looking less confident than before. “And, even I can admit I was for a long time, but I’m not anymore. It’s amazing how easily a cocktail of SSRI’s and coming out of the closet can perk up a grumpy mood.” She leaned forward to address Jughead directly. “We both know there’s no love lost between us, but I don’t want you dead. It would make my boo too sad. For some unfathomable reason, she likes you.”

 

Toni smiled at her girlfriend, wrapping an arm around her waist.

 

Jughead glanced at Betty and shook his head. “I really hate to say this, but I don’t think she’s our guy.”

 

Betty nodded and rose from the sofa to leave. “I’m sorry to have bothered you both.”

 

“No, it’s cool. This was the most excitement we’ve had in days.” Toni smirked, as she sauntered over to Jughead. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Cheryl, but I’m sure you can guess why.”

 

“Oh, Topaz, you always did have a thing for the kooky ones.” Jughead hugged Toni, pressed a kiss to the side of her head, then left to join Betty near the exit.

 

“Jug!” Toni called out, and Jughead turned at her voice. “Please be careful, okay?”

 

“That’s the plan,” He said, then escorted Betty through the front door.

 

* * *

  

Jughead brushed off his hands. “Well, that was a washout.”

 

Betty tugged on the lapel of his flannel shirt. “Not completely. Knowing what something is not, helps give us a better idea of what it could be. Like how in negative space architecture, the shape that’s missing from a structure tells you what kind of shapes wouldn’t be able to fit around it?”

 

Jughead’s eyes darkened, he backed Betty up against the side wall of Cheryl’s house, then kissed her so hard she thought she might faint. “You are going to have to stop saying smart shit if you want to make it to this getaway car at a reasonable hour.”

 

Betty was tempted to recite the Fibonacci Code just to see what he’d do next, but her wish to get him somewhere safe overrode her libido. “Would you feel more incentivized if I promised to read you my master’s thesis in the bathtub once we got there?”

 

“Are we both in the bathtub in this scenario?” Jughead asked, enthusiastically jogging beside her.

 

They had a visual on the car now: a 2016 dark blue Chevy Sonic with Vermont plates, and Betty finally started to relax. Once they arrived, she reached under the wheel housing, pulled out a set of keys and auto-unlocked the doors. “Get in, Jug.”

 

He rubbed his hand over the trunk of the car as he circled it. “I have never been so happy to see a nondescript, mid-sized sedan in all my life.”

 

Betty’s hand was on the door handle when it happened, a bullet shot out from the treeline, whizzed past her face and shattered the driver’s side window. “Get down behind the wheel!” She shouted, immediately following her own instructions. She ran to the far side of the car and crouched down behind the passenger’s side wheel.

 

In one fluid motion, Betty pulled her gun from the holster and took the safety off, then turned to find Jughead, whose chest was deeply heaving as he cowered behind the back wheel. She held her other hand up, signaling for him to stay where he was, then gestured to the back-seat door and signed for him to get in and lie down on the ground on her call.

 

Another shot rang out, shattering the driver’s side back seat window.

 

Something about this didn’t smell right to Betty. Whoever the shooter was, they weren’t trying to advance at all. They weren’t raining down bullets on them the way a somebody truly bent on killing would be. And the shots they were taking were purposeful, almost choreographed, and always hit their mark. An inexperienced shooter couldn’t accurately hit a clear pane of glass with one shot from 300 yards away in the dark, that would take a professional. And if a professional was hiding out there, then why weren’t they already dead?

 

Working from a hunch, Betty signaled for Jughead to get inside of the car. His motion prompted the gunman to shoot out one of the side mirrors. He was good, accurate. Why wouldn’t the sniper blow the car’s tires so they’d have no place to run? Would a trained professional be this stupid?

 

Betty wasn’t sure if the person stalking Jughead had no intention of ever killing him, or if – like a cat – they just enjoyed playing with their food before they ate.

 

She remote-started the car and crawled into the driver’s seat, then sunk down into her chair and floored the gas until they reached the nearest crowded highway.

 

* * *

 

Two car changes later and Jughead still hadn’t said a word to her. His head rested against the window, eyes ringed with tiredness yet still pinned-open, watching the sodium lamps pass on the side of the highway.

 

Betty pulled the car to the shoulder of the road and put the gear shift into park.

 

“Are we at Shadow Lake yet?” Jughead roused, lengthening his spine as he stretched.

 

“Not yet. We’re close though, it’s just up that mountain road.” She observed him carefully, worried he might be suffering from shock.

 

“Why did we stop?”

 

Betty smiled and reached for his hand. “Thought maybe you’d want to talk?”

 

He looked down at their hands then gave her a sidelong glance. “You think I’m going to go ‘Full Metal Jacket’ the next time a car backfires or something, don’t you?”

 

“No,” She said, rather unconvincingly. “Okay, maybe a little, but it’s just me, Jug. I’m definitely not going to judge you if you’re feeling a bit paranoid and edgy.”

 

He lifted their intertwined hands to his lips and planted a lingering kiss on her wrist. “I have no idea what I did to deserve you.”

 

Betty leaned over the gear shift and brought her free hand to cup his cheek. “You know, you don’t have to earn somebody’s affection, Juggie. They just have to like who you are.”

 

“And you like me,” He said, sounding a little baffled.

 

“I do.” She squeezed his hand once before releasing it, then shifted back into drive. “Veronica’s note said the house is the last one on the left, so stay sharp.”

 

* * *

 

 _‘Lodge Lodge’_ was something out of Architectural Digest, a lovingly appointed mansion with rustic details and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the nearby lake.

 

Jughead dropped their bags in the foyer and pulled Betty into an embrace, leaning his cheek on the top of her head. “It’s okay that I’m touching you like this, right?”

 

“It’s definitely okay.” Betty sighed and lifted her arms to wrap securely around his middle. “God, my back is killing me from driving so long and we aren’t even very far out of Riverdale.”

 

He pulled back from the hug and dipped down to meet her eye line. “Did Ronnie say if there was any food in this house? I could make you dinner? Draw you that bath you taunted me with earlier?”

 

Betty raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been thinking about that for a while, huh?”

 

He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. “Maaaaybe.”

 

She laughed and lightly pushed him back by his chest. “Let’s revisit that topic after we eat.”

 

* * *

 

After a fast meal of defrosted short ribs and cauliflower gratin, they’d wandered through the house, examining each room for possible vulnerabilities. Eventually, they ended up in the master suite, where Jughead deposited her bag.

 

“You should take the master suite, it’s the nicest room,” He said, gesturing to it awkwardly.

 

Betty found his lack of surety around her adorable and couldn’t help but tease him a little. “They’re all nice rooms, Jug.”

 

“Then pick the one you like the best and I’ll set up in whatever room is left,” He offered.

 

She pressed a finger to her lips in thought. “Well, which one do you think is nicest?”

 

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Betty, I’m too tired to correctly interpret whatever it is you’re doing here, and too worried I’m going to fuck up my chances with you by making the wrong move. So, maybe you could just tell me what you want, because I can pretty much guarantee full compliance?”

 

“Full compliance?” She grabbed the edges of his flannel and pulled him closer. “That sounds like a blank check to me.”

 

Jughead’s smile lit up his entire face. “I see where this is going now, and I said what I said.”

 

Betty fingered his lapel as she pursed her lips in thought. “Did you notice the master bedroom had a Jacuzzi bath?”

 

He huffed out an exasperated breath but was still wearing a fond expression. “Betty, do you want me to sleep in here with you or not?”

 

She pretended to deliberate for less than ten seconds. “It’s probably safer for you if you do, easier for me to keep guard.”

 

“Yeah.” Jughead dropped his own bag on the floor next to hers. “My selfless hero.”

 

* * *

 

_Betty was drifting, limbs both light and heavy at the same time and her lungs burned from too much effort. Her lips were pinched shut and she was running out of air, but she had to hold on just a little longer. Unexpectedly, two strong hands grabbed her by the torso and lifted her to the surface of the water. She choked on her first, too-eager, intake of fresh air and was wracked by coughs. One hand slid to her back and patted it gently until she regained control over her breathing._

_“I thought you were dead,” Jughead said, looking extremely concerned. “But point goes to you because that was some next level breath-holding.”_

_“I used to dive.” Betty held the railing of the whirlpool tub to steady herself while climbing into his lap, then pushed his wet curl out of his eyes. “I think that puts me ahead now, no?”_

_“I think you’re cheating because you’re obviously part-fish.” He pulled her closer, the hair on the tops of his thighs tickled the bottom of hers. “Or jellyfish. Or maybe a mermaid? Certainly, some mythical creature I stumbled upon in the unlikeliest of places.”_

_“I’m having fun with you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and he grabbed the curve of her ass to keep her from floating away. “Is this what all one-night stands are like, Jug?”_

_“I’m no expert, Betty, but I have a feeling most don’t involve competitive breath-holding in an oversized hotel Jacuzzi tub.” His hands squeezed her bottom, playfully goosing her._

_“They really should.” Betty’s endorphins were running high and she was still pleasantly buzzed, giving her the kind of bravery she’d imagine other women must feel all the time._

_Jughead appeared riveted by her like she was a mirage he was afraid would vanish the moment he turned his head. Attention like that would normally make her uncomfortable, but she wanted him to look at her, especially like that._

_He stared unabashedly at her naked body and let out a wolf whistle. “I can’t say that I’ve ever experienced anything like you before.”_

_“What else haven’t you experienced? Or rather, what would you like to do that you haven’t?” She idly played with his wet hair, shaping it into a poor facsimile of a mohawk, then looked down at him expectantly when she hadn’t gotten a response. "I'm talking about sex, Juggie."_

_“Yeah, I picked up on it, but answering that question is the no-win scenario,” He said. “If my list is basic, you’ll assume I’m bad at sex. And, if it’s really kinky, you’ll run for the hills.”_

_“Jug, I already know you’re not bad at sex and if you ask for something too weird, I can just say no. This is a one-night stand right? We never have to see each other again. This is the perfect opportunity to ask for something truly depraved that you’d never have the balls to ask a girlfriend for.”_

_“I don’t really do girlfriends, but I understand the sentiment.” His voice was rough, and his fingers dug into Betty’s skin almost painfully. She had his full attention now. “And ‘truly depraved’? What did you have in mind, Betty Cooper, other than something less vanilla?”_

_Betty shrugged and played it coy. “Depends on what you consider vanilla. I haven’t had the most inspired lovers in the past so it’s hard for me to gauge.”_

_“I’m not surprised most men don’t know what to do with you.” His hungry gaze fell to her breasts, which were bobbing at the water line. “They see you, and they probably think they’re going home with the girl next door.”_

_“They’re not?” She asked, batting her eyes at him._

_Jughead smirked, obviously seeing through the act. “You know what you are, and so do I.”_

_Betty wrapped her legs around his waist and locked them behind him. “And what am I, Jughead Jones?”_

_“A strange and beautiful mythical creature.” His hands smoothed over her features like a blind man reading faces and cradled her jaw. “And, I’m still not quite sure why you chose me.”_

_She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, holding his shoulders for support. “Maybe you’re mythical, too? We know our own kind, you know.”_

_A trail of water dripped down his face and he licked it from his lips. “What are these depraved things you want to do to me…or would you rather have me do them to you?”_

_A wave of nervousness passed over her. It was all fun and games until they force you to lay your cards on the table. But, something about him made this feel safe. “I have this…darkness in me sometimes. I’m not really sure where it comes from.”_

_“A darkness?” He was momentarily contemplative. “Does it make you want to hurt people?”_

_She shrugged and tried to look away, but he turned her chin back to face him and she answered him. “Yes.”_

_“Have you hurt people?” He asked, looking neither concerned or alarmed by what her response might be._

_She sat up straighter – wondered if this was the moment he’d be the one running for the hills – and reluctantly nodded. “I lost control once, almost drowned a man. He’d hurt my sister and I wanted him to pay. Do you find me disgusting, now?”_

_Jughead’s breathing increased and he shook his head. “When I was 16, a gang member threatened to hurt my sister. I sliced a tattoo off her forearm. I should have been horrified with myself, and I mostly was, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that a small part of me liked that feeling of giving in to baser urges.”_

_Betty wasn’t sure if they were both sick or the only two honest people in the universe, but she had never wanted somebody more. “We’re quite a pair, huh?”_

_“Yes, we are,” He said, his relief palpable. “Nothing is off the table for you, okay? You can take whatever you need and I won’t judge you for it.”_

_Betty’s mouth fell open at the offer. “You’re serious.”_

_“A blank check.” His hands slid down her neck and cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, making her pant. “Is that what you want from me, Betty?”_

_She couldn’t believe somebody was willing to do this for her. She had so many feelings, so much pain and other than her palms, she’d never had a way to release it before. This man, this stranger, had glimpsed the dark recesses of her soul and taken a step toward it, not away._

_Betty wasn’t sure where to start, but if she only had one night with him she would make it count._

_They locked eyes and her hands slid below the water to touch him. “Yes, I want that very much.”_

* * *

 

After the activity over the last two days, sleep had come easily to Betty for once in her life. She hadn’t managed to take a bath, barely was able to undress before passing out in half her clothes. Jughead wasn’t much better, and by the time she was woken up by the rural area's incessantly chirping birds, they had slept for 11 hours.

 

Betty had just started extricating herself from Jughead’s big spoon hold when his arms tightened around her waist.

 

“Juggie, come on, I have to pee.” She said, trying to wriggle away from the erection poking her in the thigh.

 

“No.” His heavy leg dropped on top of hers to trap her and his face pressed into the back of her neck. “I want to touch you. Can I?”

 

A deep pang of desire that rushed through her like a river, the fog of sleep vanishing in an instant. It was probably too fast, they hadn’t even really talked about what everything between them meant, but she wanted him. God, how she wanted him. “Yeah, you can.”

 

His hand breached the front of her sleep shirt and tested the weight of one bosom, squeezing it gently before sweeping over her nipple with his thumb. “You still feel like satin.”

 

Jughead’s breath hit the back of her neck and Betty shuddered in his arms. “That feels good.”

 

“I’ve barely started.” He chuckled against her skin and continued rubbing his hand lightly over her breasts, testing their sensitivity. “I have a three-year-long list of things I’ve been dreaming about doing to you. I just wish I knew how long we were going to be here.”

 

Reality hit Betty like a ton of bricks and she started to pull away, but the pressure from his hand on her chest kept her steady. “What happens if somebody breaks in and tries to kill you and I’m too busy— It's so selfish of me, irresponsible, unprofessional...” Her breathing grew erratic and she could feel her anxiety starting to spiral.

 

“Shhhh, Betty.” Jughead tweaked her nipple, then pushed his hand all the way up the inside of her shirt - through the neckline - to wrap his fingers around the front of her throat. The comforting weight of his hand on her neck finally stilled her unwelcome thoughts. “They could have also broken in while we were asleep, but they didn’t and they won’t now. You’ve been taking care of me for three days. Let me take care of you.” His other hand snaked past the elastic of her panties and he grunted as his fingers glided through her wetness. “Fuck, you really want this, don’t you?”

 

Her mind flickered to nothing, she let her head drop backward on his shoulder and fisted the sheets beside them. “Yes, please.”

 

His fingers made lazy circles on her core, not quite fast or hard enough to get her off, but still pushed her closer to the edge. His hand tightened around her throat and she gasped for air, white spots forming behind her eyes before he slowly released her, allowing her to draw breath again. He pressed himself against the crease of her ass and she moaned embarrassingly loud.

 

“I tried to be normal, to date other girls, but it did nothing for me. I felt nothing.” Jughead’s voice was staccato as he thrust against her, fingers finally slipping inside of her where she wanted them most. He rolled partially on his back, taking her with him, and rocked his firm cock against her with a groan. “I think, maybe, you were made just for me.”

 

Betty whimpered and the hand around her windpipe tightened again, his fingers inside of her picking up speed. She was floating now, her brain filled with cotton floss, and his hands were the only thing that registered.

 

His breathing stuttered along with his hips and Betty could tell that he was getting close.

 

“Do you remember this? Did you miss this?” He asked, then bit the tendon in her shoulder. The sharp pain was a focused point of light that she couldn't help but chase. “Did you miss me?”

 

“God, yes,” She rasped out, pushing herself back to give him more leverage to get himself off. “So much.”

 

He groaned and roughly pressed the heel of his palm against her clit as he continued to curl his fingers inside of her. “Let go, Betty. Come on.”

 

“Not yet.” She hummed out tiny noises between gulps of air, spent from the effort of trying to push back the tide rising within her. “I want this to last.”

 

“Do you feel this?” His lips touched the shell of her ear as he spoke, teeth grazing the edge, and his grip on her neck tightened again. “This isn’t a one-night stand, baby. You don’t have to make it last. I’ve got you, Betty, let go. Let go.”

 

“Okay….okay.” Betty nodded and reluctantly released the tight hold she had on the sheets, allowing the dam to break inside of her. “Fuck!” A swell of euphoria ripped through her, raging like a cold fire and reducing her to cinders. She shivered in his arms, boneless, a feeling of peace settling over her like a warm blanket.

 

Betty vaguely heard her name called, his groan in her ear, then felt Jughead lift a damp shirt over her head and use it to wipe her back off. Her mind was still fuzzy, but she instinctively leaned into his hold and buried her face in his neck.

 

“Betty?” Jughead brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her temple. “Are you still with me?” She mumbled an incoherent response, which prompted his laughter. “Do you have an emergency contact person I should call, or—”

 

Her brain started up again and she weakly slapped his arm with the back of her hand. “Don’t be an asshole.”

 

Jughead reached over to the side table and grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewed the top and forced her to take a sip. “Are you okay?” The look of genuine concern on his face made Betty’s heart ache.

 

She tipped her chin up to look at him and smiled. “I’m more than okay. I haven’t felt this okay for a while.”

 

“Me either.” Jughead kissed the top of her nose. “And, I’m not giving this up again, no matter how difficult I expect you'll get about it.”

 

She shook her head and let it drop on his bicep. “I’m done looking for reasons to avoid being happy. I’m not sure what we are, but I don’t think I can live without this feeling anymore.”

 

Jughead smiled bigger than she’d ever seen before. “Good. Because, I don’t have the energy to fight both you and the person trying to kill me.”

 

Betty remembered the revelation she’d had during their shootout and bit her lip. “Jug, I’m not sure somebody is trying to kill you.” Her fingers traced the old scar on his shoulder from the bullet that grazed him a month ago.

 

His brow furrowed in confusion. “I’ve had several attempts on my life that would suggest otherwise.”

 

“Have you, though?” Betty sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. “The bomb in your bike was on a remote timer, not linked to the ignition. The man who invaded your house could have broken through the door of the office at any time, but instead tossed a brick through your glass ceiling.”

 

“What about the guy shooting at us yesterday?” He sat up, showing more interest.

 

“If he was trying to kill us, he was a lousy shot, don’t you think?”

 

“He wasn’t a lousy shot, though.” Jughead wiped a hand over his weary face. “And, I did find it odd he didn’t go for the tires to keep us from leaving.”

 

"That's exactly what I thought, too." It hurt her to see him so distraught, but she felt deep down they were finally on the right track. “Juggie, if your stalker is trying to terrorize you instead of kill you, that means this is very personal. They don't want to take away your life, they want to ruin it.”

 

He looked momentarily ill and reached for her hand. “God, Betty. This is so fucked up.”

 

“Yes, but it narrows the list of suspects considerably. How many people truly hate you enough to go to all this trouble?”

 

His eyes closed to think, and she took a moment to appreciate just how beautiful he was in the late morning light.

 

“Three people, maybe?” He said, sounding slightly unsure.

 

“Three?" Betty tsked. "Somebody really needs to teach you better manners, Jones, because you really have a knack for pissing people off.”

 

"It's a talent." He looked up at her through dark lashes.

 

Betty sighed and absently played with his fingers. “Maybe, you just weren’t disciplined enough as a child?”

 

"Oh?" His head perked up like a dog's and her mouth went dry when she caught the wanton expression on his face.

 

Her head tipped to the side in thought. "Do you need me to teach you how to behave?"

 

Jughead took a shaky breath and squeezed her hand. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. That happened. Hopefully, you're not all weirded out by this? I'm not really an expert in smut-writing, so if my stab at BDSM-lite is squicky, let me know and I can skip straight to the action next time.
> 
> My next grad school class starts Monday and I don't know how grueling the course will be yet, but I'm going to try my best to update regularly. I don't see this story going beyond 12 chapters, but famous last words, right?
> 
> If you have the time, PLEASE drop a comment and let me know what you thought of this. I worked really hard on the fic this week, so I hope it entertained you. So many of you have left encouraging comments and I appreciate every single one They are a big source of motivation for me, so THANK YOU!


	8. Beautiful Bubble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! I'm back with another unbeta'd chapter. 
> 
> This one is DEFINITELY smuttier than the last one and also BDSM, so buckle your fucking seatbelts!  
> It may be a bit jarring to see an explicit sex scene in the middle of all that action, but I really wanted to establish more of their history, so pls try to roll with it?
> 
> There probably won't be more smut for a few chapters, so enjoy it while it lasts.

_Still damp from the bath, Betty was face down on the bed, wrapped in a towel and searching the internet on her iPad._

_“You know this is a one-night stand, yes? By the time you find something you want to try the sun will be up.” Jughead sat on the edge of the mattress and smoothed the droplets of water on her back with his hand._

_A flush came over her and she bit her lip. “You just told me you’d do anything that I wanted and I have absolutely no idea what’s even out there. I’m a stickler for preparation, especially when I’m about to try a new experience.”_

_“I think we can cross spontaneity and dirty-talk off the list.” His voice was flat, but his expression betrayed his amusement._

_“Jug! There is so much crazy stuff out there, it’s a little overwhelming.” She swiped through pictures of people tied with Shibari ropes (which piqued her interest), knife play (too dangerous), degradation scenes (a hard no), gang bangs (an even harder no), and a host of other extreme scenarios she couldn’t even skim over without feeling gross._

_“If you’re determined to be such a geek about this, why don’t we just use the scientific method, test a few things out and see what rocks your boat?” Jughead pulled the iPad from her hands and she made a half-hearted grasp before he placed it out of reach._

_She was feeling a bit out of her depth. “I just don’t know where to start.”_

_He crossed his arms, seemingly deep in thought. “Do you trust me?”_

_Betty scoffed. “I met you yesterday.”_

_“And?”_

_She shrugged, getting his point. This thing between them wasn’t normal, so why should anything else about their interactions be? “I wouldn’t be doing this with you if I didn’t.”_

_He paced the length of the room, back and forth as he brainstormed. “What do you want? Do you want me to dominate you? Do you want to dominate me?”_

_Betty thought about it for a moment and realized both ideas were appealing to her. “Both.”_

_Jughead laughed, pulled the towel off her body and snapped it against her naked ass. “So greedy, Betty.”_

_The way he exposed her so abruptly like she had no choice, gave her a visceral thrill. She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes ablaze. “You dominate me this time.”_

_“I had a feeling you’d say that.” The smile he gave her wasn’t sweet, it was a promise of something carnal and untamed. “Anything, in particular, you’d like me to do?”_

_There was one thing she was dying to experience, but it wasn’t the type of thing a girl like her usually did and she was hesitant to bring it up. “I’ve never had unprotected sex before. I’m on the pill and I know I’m clean, but if you’re not comfortable…”_

_“Hell yes,” Jughead said, apparently needing no time to deliberate. “I’ve never done it bareback either. I’m clean too, but you’d have to take my word for it. It’s not like I carry around test results, this kind of thing doesn’t really happen to me, well, ever.”_

_“I trust you, remember?” It was surprising just how much Betty meant it. “As for the rest of it, let’s just throw stuff at the wall and see what sticks.”_

 

* * *

  

She’d had been with men before, guys with pleasant childhoods and bright futures, who took her at her word and didn’t dare peek behind the curtain to see who she truly was. It was better for them that they didn’t, easier for her to pretend she was normal, to hide behind pale pink lip gloss and pastel sweaters. With him, she could be truly naked.

 

Betty sat in Jughead’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck. She could feel him everywhere, both rough and gentle at the same time - hand gripping her hair a little too tightly, his lips gliding softly across her neck, the occasional bite mark he left on her shoulder, the sweep of his thumb across the ridge of her jaw – and her body was humming from it.

 

“What do you want me to do to you?” He whispered hotly into her mouth as he kissed her.

 

Betty sighed, pressed her body closer to his and laid her head on his shoulder. “I thought it was my turn to do something to you?”

 

His fingers traced the length of her spine, up and over each vertebra as if he were mapping all the details of her body by touch. It was crazy to her that something so casual could also feel so intimate.

 

Jughead chuckled into her hair. “That’s not what you really want though, is it?”

 

She pulled back and looked at him, amazed at how intuitive he was about her needs when they’d barely spent any time together at all. Betty wanted things to make sense, she needed order in the world, but there was no explanation why they vibrated at the same frequency like two tuning forks cast from the same vein of iron. Was it ungrateful even asking for a logical explanation why things felt so right?

 

“No.”

 

“I know.” His index finger slid from one of her temples to the other. “You need to get out of this brilliant head of yours again, don’t you?”

 

 “What about you?” She felt a little selfish taking so much, but she’d gone without this for three years and now that the flip was switched she wasn’t sure she could stop herself from wanting it.

 

“I like taking care of you, Betty.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek and she thought she might melt from the sweetness of it.

 

“I like taking care of you, too.” She bit her lip and pressed her forehead to his neck so she wouldn’t have to see his reaction. “I just wish I’d done a better job of it so far.”

 

“I’d be dead several times over if it weren’t for you.” His hand fell to the back of her neck and squeezed and her frame sagged against him almost like a Pavlovian response. “I know you won’t be able to sleep soundly until all the puzzle pieces fit neatly into place and justice has been served, but you’re not the architect of every misstep that happens along the way. You are reacting the best you can to the shit that’s been lobbed at us, and so far, we are both still here. They haven’t beaten us, and that’s down to you.”

 

It was exactly what Betty needed to hear and she further tightened her arms around him. “Is it weird that you’re the only person who’s ever really understood me, Juggie?”

 

His hand was heavy on the back of her neck, lulling her into serenity. “I don’t think I believe in God and I’ve never believed in fate or soulmates, but I know deep in the marrow of my bones that we were meant to know each other, Betty.”

 

She blinked back the tears forming in her eyes and cupped his face. “Do you really think so?”

 

“I’ve never had romantic feelings for anyone before, even people I slept with. I’ve never ever felt the ‘butterflies in the stomach’ feeling Archie always writes bad songs about, but the first time I saw you - an angel in a white dress pouring soda down an unruly tween’s pants - I swear my heart stopped beating just for a second.” His eyes were wild as they danced from feature to feature across her face. “It’s like everything I’ve never felt for anybody else in the world was saved up just for you. That must mean something, right?”

 

“I’m calmer when I’m with you,” She admitted, still holding his face, which lit up with a smile. “I tortured myself trying not to think about you or that night and that wasn’t just me being dramatic, it was honestly a chore trying to block out the memory of that naughty little smirk you wear whenever you tease me or the feeling of your hands on my skin. And now, it’s like the floodgates have opened and I’m too weak to stop it.”

 

“Then don’t,” He said, imploring her as he pushed her gently back onto the mattress. He bent his head and kissed the hollow of her neck. “Don’t try to stop it. I don’t want you to.”

 

“I won’t.” Something shattered inside of her then, but she knew she could trust him to pick up the pieces and put her back together again. “I have no idea what’s going to happen with us in the future, but I know I need you now.”

 

“You have me,” She heard, echoing through her head, and then she felt him lift her legs over his shoulders and nuzzle his face between her thighs.

 

* * *

  

Despite how beautiful their respite away from Riverdale had been, they couldn’t pretend the real world had faded away. With Jughead’s stalker not knowing where they were hiding, they had a tactical advantage but it wouldn’t last forever. Especially not if he ever wanted to have a normal life again.

 

Having located some baking supplies and a packet of frozen milk, Betty was able to whip up a batch of silver dollar pancakes…which lasted Jughead about five minutes until she had to get up and make a second batch.

 

They were curled up on the buttery leather couch next to one of the picture windows that overlooked the lake, eating from plates precariously balanced on their laps, no doubt breaking about ten different house rules.

 

Jughead stole a bite of fluffy pancake off Betty’s plate and dragged it through her puddle of maple syrup before shoving into his mouth.

 

“Hey!” She yelled, pushing her foot against his thigh. “You still have some on your own plate, why are you stealing mine?”

 

“The fruit of il begotten gains is always sweeter.” To prove his point, he took another piece off her plate and ate it.

 

Betty huffed and stabbed her fork into a pancake on his plate, dragging the entire thing off and stuffing it all into her mouth in one go. “Oh, you’re totally right,” She said, through a mouth full of un-chewed pancake. “So much better.”

 

His eyes slid to her, unimpressed. “It’s only cute when I do it, Betts. When you do it, it’s just mean.”

 

She shrugged her shoulders, amused by his manufactured outrage and brought her fork up again to take another of his pancakes.

 

“No! Betty, no!” He grabbed her plate from her hand and stretched to rest both their meals on a nearby coffee table. “When did you become so evil? Is this what I have to look forward to when we’re 80 and I’m too feeble to stop you?”

 

He froze for a moment, realizing what he’d just said, and looked away embarrassed.

 

Betty swallowed the lump of pancakes in her mouth and stared at him, waiting for him to make a retraction. When he didn’t, she pulled herself into his lap and kissed him, licking the remnants of maple syrup off his lips. “That’s exactly what’s in store for your future, so you’d better toughen up, Jones.”

 

His eyes sparkled like aquamarines in the reflected light from the water - Betty decided they were her new favorite color - smiled shyly at her, and cleared his throat. “I’ll make a point of it, baby.”

 

Something had changed between them since they’d arrived at the Lodge. Perhaps the fairytale background provided them a level of plausible deniability, the romance of the setting serving as an excuse for reckless emotions? Or maybe they were just older, had seen more, almost lost everything, and could finally appreciate they’d been given a gift most people would never be lucky enough to have.

 

Betty leaned her head against his, suddenly wistful. “I wish we could just stay here forever. No stalkers, no FBI, no real responsibilities, just you and me and the beautiful bubble that is  _Lodge Lodge_.”

 

“Same.”

 

“But what would we do about food once the pancake batter runs out?”

 

“I could forage and you could hunt.”

 

Betty turned to look at him and laughed. “Jughead, do you even know how to forage?”

 

“I’m offended by your lack of confidence in me, Elizabeth. I used to take my sister, JB, on nature walks when she was little. We’d go around collecting berries and mushrooms, stuff we’d never be able to afford in the grocery store. Of course, half of it was poisonous, but my mother always said I had a keen eye. It’s a miracle we didn’t die.”

 

Out of nowhere, Betty suddenly felt a swell of anger grow in her chest. “I still can’t comprehend how anybody could ever leave you. Your mother missed out on so much and frankly, I feel sorry for her.”

 

Jughead shrugged and picked at a loose thread on his shirt. “I don’t feel sorry for her. It was her choice. She knew what she wanted.”

 

Betty combed her fingers through his curls. “She didn’t know what she was giving up though, how incredible you’d turn out to be.”

 

“Maybe I wouldn’t have been incredible if she had stayed?”

 

“You would have been incredible no matter what.” She said, with fervor, feeling desperate for him to believe her. “You’re special. I’ve never met anybody like you before, and now I know now it’s because there isn't anybody else like you in the whole world.” 

 

His chest lifted and she could hear him take a large breath. “Spoken with the clouded perspective of a freshly laid woman.”

 

“Go ahead and deflect, but you know I’m not confused by a sex fog. You may have half of Riverdale frothing at the mouth to see you bite it, but you have the best heart and anybody who can’t see that is a fool, especially your mother.” She placed a kiss on the top of his head. “Your ass ain’t half bad either.”

 

He tipped his head back and kissed her behind the ear, letting his lips linger there for a while. “Speaking of everybody wanting me to die…I think I’ve narrowed down the pool of suspects.”

 

“Who are these people trying to ruin your life…other than Tall Boy, who is after your inheritance?” Betty’s fingers absently twined in Jughead’s hair and she tried to stay focused.

 

“The Ghoulies, for one. They’re the rival gang Archie tricked me into putting away in prison.”

 

She shifted on his lap. “Wasn’t that years ago?”

 

“You say that like we’re 50, Betty.” He poked her in the knee. “I always assumed my dad secretly worked some kind of deal out with them when they were released, otherwise there would have been an all-out gang war. Maybe some of them are still holding a grudge?”

 

“Could be, but to wait this long seems unlikely.”

 

Jughead’s index finger drew shapes on her thigh. “I don’t know, I’d imagine Penny Peabody still wants to skin me alive.”

 

“The woman who threatened JB?”

 

He nodded. “I heard she got disbarred a while back, but I don’t know if it’s true. Nothing to do with me, unfortunately.”

 

As the list of suspects grew, Betty was suddenly very wary about leaving the property. Danger lurked everywhere and she was only one person. Would she be enough to keep him safe? “I assume we can cross Cheryl off the list, but what about Penelope?”

 

Jughead pressed a fist to his mouth in thought. “She’s definitely a nasty piece of work, possibly the only reason I’d ever felt any sympathy for Cheryl in the past. I very much doubt she enjoyed losing everything. As much as I don’t want to, we have to go back and settle it. It’s the only way to live a normal life.”

 

“I don’t know, I think you could live a normal life handcuffed to this house.”

 

Jughead raised his eyebrows. “I think you’re just looking for an excuse to use your handcuffs on me.”

 

Betty gasped in faux shock. “You are such a pervert!”

 

Jughead kissed her deeply, his thumb anchoring her jaw. “And you love it.”

 

* * *

  

They drove back to Riverdale in near silence. Halfway back to town, they received a text from Veronica’s burner phone, sending them the address of the rental apartment Archie and she had been temporarily living in. Betty was tempted to drive straight there, but she didn’t want to put her friends in any more danger than she already had.

 

The one thing Betty knew for certain, was that they needed to speak to F. P. again. He would be able to provide them with copies of the paperwork detailing the Aardwolf’s ownership stake in the clubhouse and disclose any deal he may have made with the Ghoulies to keep the peace. F. P. was also likely to have information concerning the fate of Penny Peabody.

 

As for Penelope Blossom, they would have no choice but to take another trip to Thistlehouse. Judging by Cheryl’s tight demeanor when she brought up her mother, Betty assumed any loyalties she had toward the woman didn’t run very deep. It was at least another avenue to explore.

 

Jughead pulled into the parking lot of a roadside diner, a white building with sleek curving walls and vinyl booths lining the windows, looking like something straight out of a vintage Marlon Brando film. The neon sign for ‘Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe’ blazed overhead, casting the entire parking lot in a pink glow.   

 

“Why are we here?” Betty asked, already knowing the answer. “You ate your weight in pancakes less than three hours ago.”

 

‘Yeah, that was  _three hours_  ago. Do you want me to starve to death?” Jughead put the car into park and pocketed the keys before Betty could grab for them. “Besides, I kind of want to show you my favorite place in town. I think I spent half my childhood sitting in one of those booths and writing. Kind of a home away from home when I didn’t exactly have a home.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You are tugging at my heartstrings to get what you want.”

 

“Is it working?” He shot her a shit-eating grin. “We’ve got to eat at some point.”

 

“Fine, but no lingering.” Betty relented almost immediately, opening her car door and stepping outside. Jughead could probably use an hour in a place that had always made him feel safe. “And, you owe me a strawberry shake. They have those here, right?”

 

Jughead rounded to her side of the car and dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Oh baby, you’re about to have a life-changing experience.”

 

* * *

  

“Hey Pop!” Jug hollered, waving his hand in the air as they stepped through the door of the restaurant.  

 

“Jughead Jones!” Pop exclaimed, throwing a rag over his shoulder. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How have those woods been treating you?”

 

Jughead shrugged and let his arm slide to Betty’s waist. “Can’t complain.”

 

Pop nodded toward Betty. “I can see why. Is that your girl?”

 

Jughead shifted nervously on his feet, looking like a 12-year-old at a Spelling Bee. Betty decided to put him out of his misery and extended her arm to shake Pop’s hand. “Hi. I’m Betty, Jug’s girl.”

 

Jughead’s head turned so fast to look at her, she thought he might throw out his back.

 

Pop shook her hand slowly, a smile on his face. “Well, you’re quite pretty. If I were 30 years younger, I might give Jones here a run for his money.”

 

“Okay, settle down, Pop.” Jughead grinned at the older man and pulled Betty into the nearest booth. 

 

“He’s nice,” She said, scooting across the bench to make room for Jughead.

 

“Well, yeah, of course, you think he’s nice.” His hand landed her thigh as he lowered himself into the seat next to her. “You’re the one he called pretty, whereas I’m the one he tried to cuckold.”

 

Betty brushed her nose against his. “I do like a man who can cook.” 

 

“That’s a shame.” His hand moved to the inside of her thigh and he gave her a pointed look. “Because I’m only good at eating.”

 

“You just ate,” She said, bringing a menu up to her face to block him from her view. 

 

He pulled the menu back and planted a kiss on her lips, then rose from the bench. “Nature calls. I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

Betty watched him walk away, admiring the way his jeans clung to the curve of his ass. She wasn’t sure how she was going to manage to fit him into her life in a way that worked, but she had to at least try. If the memory of that weekend haunted her for three years, there was no way the memory of the last few days wouldn’t prove harder to forget.

 

The jingling of bells caught Betty’s attention as a lithe man with an impressive mountain of dark curls walked through the front door of Pop’s. He was clad in black leather pants, a half-dozen chain necklaces, and a soft paisley shirt which hung open to the navel. She decided quickly that he looked like he could be the pansexual love child of Stephen Tyler and Captain Jack Sparrow. 

 

Sleepy hamlets like Riverdale didn’t produce men like this, not men who stayed at least, and her antennae were officially tweaked. 

 

He sauntered to the register, hips swaying as if strutting to the beat of his own theme song and slapped both hands on the bar as he perched on the edge of his stool. A chubby, red-headed waitresses busy plating a slice of cherry pie blushed as soon as her eyes fell on him, and the grin he returned to her was borderline feral. 

 

Betty must have been staring too long because he looked up and aimed a wink directly at her.

 

“You’re not from around here, are you darlin’?” He drawled, every inch Red Riding Hood’s wolf as he gave her an appreciative once-over.

 

Betty shook her head, feeling suddenly very underdressed. “Are you?” 

 

“I’m from wherever you want me to be from.” He poured off the stool like liquid mercury, and walked across the restaurant, stopping at the edge of her table. Up close, he seemed very much like an actor who’d wandered onto a set of the wrong movie, an anachronism of sorts.

 

“This seat taken?” He gestured to the empty expanse of pleather bench next to her. 

 

She cleared her throat, totally taken off guard, and smiled benignly at him. “Sorry. I’m with somebody.”

 

“Hmm, that’s unfortunate.” He cast a predatory look down the front of her shirt and licked his lips. “Well, feel free to call me when you get a vacancy then, okay gorgeous?” He produced a business card from nowhere and slid it across the Formica table top. 

 

She lifted the card and looked at it closely, it only had a first name and a cell phone number printed on it. “Malachai? That’s an unusual name.” 

 

He shrugged and fingered the low neckline of his shirt, calling attention to his washboard abs. “What can I say? I’m an unusual guy.”

 

Betty laughed and made a show of pocketing the card. “You certainly are.”

 

“See you around, Betty,” He said, rubbing his hand along the top of the booth before pivoting away and out of the restaurant like a choreographed dance move.

 

Jughead appeared a moment later, wiping his wet hands first on the front of his jeans then through his hair. “They only have towels in the bathroom, like,  _real_  towels. There’s nobody I want to share a communal towel with, in this town…except for maybe you. What’s wrong?”

 

She was still looking toward the exit, feeling inexplicably unnerved by her encounter. It occurred to her at that moment that he’d never even ordered anything to eat, just dropped by and immediately vanished. Riverdale never failed to be weird. “I was just approached by the strangest man.”

 

“Oh? Did he have designs on you, like Pop? Should I be jealous?” Jughead pretended to be mad and slid into the empty space next to her. 

 

Betty leaned her head on Jughead’s shoulder and took his hand. “Always.”

 

“What every insecure man longs to hear.” He chuckled as he kissed her wrist.

 

“You have nothing to be insecure about, Jug.” She leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “And, with the number of bruises you left on me today, I won’t be able to be naked in front of anybody else for at least a week.”

 

“Only a week? I should probably bite you a few more times just to be safe.”

 

“Maybe I should bite you, too, then?”

 

“Baby, you left more than your share of marks. I have teeth marks on my thigh and I’m pretty sure you may have drawn blood.”

 

“I did?” Betty’s hands flew to her mouth, mortified. “Why didn’t you say something?”

 

“I kind of liked it?” His fingers trailed softly over her collarbone. “Hmm, maybe, I should just get you a collar so people know you’re mine.”

 

Betty raised an eyebrow at him, and his expression turned comically horrified.

 

“Okay, that was not meant to come out as ‘50 Shades’ as it did. It was very misguided attempt at dirty talk.” Jughead rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "God, I'm so bad at this."

 

Betty laughed hard, which only made Jughead look more uncomfortable.

 

“I’m not an emotionally-abusive, playboy, millionaire stalker, okay? I’m just an emotionally-damaged, blue collar, demi-romantic idiot who is now concerned the only woman he’s ever truly been interested in will pick up and leave him as soon as his case is through.” He attempted what she assumed was meant to be a comforting smile, but it came out looking more like a wince.

 

”That was quite the info dump.” Betty leaned up and kissed his cheek, then rested her head back on his shoulder. “The collar is fine, as long as you're willing to wear one, too. And don’t ever call yourself an idiot in front of me again.”

 

He stared down at her, eyes wide and pleasantly shocked, then nodded. “Noted.”

 

The waitress from earlier circled the bar and placed a vanilla shake in front of Jughead.

 

”I think you’ve got the wrong table, we haven’t ordered anything yet.” He pointed to the unreturned menus in the center of the table. 

 

“Oh no, this one is ‘on the house’,” The waitress said, batting her eyes at him. “For our hometown celebrity.”

 

“Please tell Pop thanks for me, will you…Jennifer?” He asked, looking at her name tag.

 

“You bet. I’ll be back to get your order in a few minutes.” She smiled bashfully at Jughead and made her way to the kitchen.

 

“Celebrity, huh?” Betty nuzzled the side of his neck. “Looks like I’d better get that collar on you soon before one these thirsty townies tries to chase me off.”

 

“Betty, you’re a goddamn miracle, I don’t want anybody else,” He said, simply, taking a sip of the shake. 

 

Betty was bowled over by Jughead’s emotional courage and vowed to get better at it herself. “I don’t want anybody else either, Jug.”

 

“Good. Then we’re agreed.” He angled the straw toward her. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like being a cliche couple sharing milkshakes.”

 

“Let’s find out.” She leaned into his space and wrapped her lips around the straw. However, just as she was about to take a sip, Jughead started coughing violently. “Are you okay?”

 

He tried to speak but was having trouble breathing. His face began to turn red and Betty pulled herself to her knees and looked around the restaurant, pulling some of the customers’ attention. She lifted the shake to her face and sniffed the contents. It smelled faintly of bitter almonds. That, coupled with his symptoms, could only mean one thing: cyanide. 

 

Betty pushed the shake out of reach and climbed over the table to get out. “Amyl nitrate!” She screamed to the entire restaurant, her heart pounding in her chest. “I need amyl nitrate right this second! Is anybody here on heart medication?”

 

Pop rushed around the counter and reached into his apron pocket, producing an amber vial. “Will these do?”

 

“Pop, call an ambulance immediately and tell them it’s cyanide poisoning!” Betty snatched the pills from the older man’s hand, then fell to her knees next to Jughead, who was now doubled over in the booth and moaning loudly. She tapped several pills into her hand, spilling some of them on the floor around her, and brought them to his lips, which had now turned an unhealthy shade of purple. “You have to chew these right now, Jughead.”

 

He was wheezing too hard to respond, barely conscious, so she crushed them on the tabletop with the bottom of a sugar shaker, brushed the powder into her hand and physically pushed the medication into his mouth.

 

The waitress ran over with a glass of water, looking petrified, and handed it to Betty.

 

Betty held Jughead’s neck and brought the glass to his lips, forcing him to drink. “Come on, Juggie! Come on! Please!” She arranged his head to lean against her chest and peppered his face with kisses. “You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay. Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, please please please…” She squeezed her eyes shut, whispering it repeatedly, like a mantra.

 

Jughead’s breathing slowly became less labored and he started to rouse. “Betty…” He croaked out, hoarsely.

 

“No. Don’t try to speak.” She held him tightly against her and finally allowed herself to breathe. “Oh God. I’ve never been this scared in my life.”

 

He lifted a trembling hand and dropped it on top of hers to comfort her, which reduced her to tears.

 

“Thank God.” Betty pressed her lips to his forehead, trying to put all of her gratitude, everything she felt for him, into one kiss.

 

It wasn’t until she heard the wailing of ambulance sirens that she started to relax. 

 

* * *

 

_“Promise me if you don’t like something you’ll say something and not be shy? I’ll stop right away, no questions asked,” Jughead said, deadly serious._

_Betty nodded. “Absolutely.”_

_“Okay.” He trailed a finger along her spine and over the curve of her ass, and then let his hand come down hard on her buttocks._

_She gasped and grabbed the sheets, pressing her thighs together to ease the throbbing between her legs._

_He pulled on both her ankles, forcing her arms to collapse, then pressed her face into the mattress with one hand. Another hard slap landed on her bottom and she whimpered. “Oh fuck.”_

_“Stay down.” Jughead brought his face close to hers and whispered in her ear. “Spread your legs and don’t speak unless spoken to. Understand?”_

_“Yes,” She squeaked, pressing her pelvis against the sheet to get some much-needed friction._

_Her head was spinning, thoughts racing a hundred miles an hour, but the steady, domineering sound of his voice pulled her out of her tailspin._

_“Such a greedy girl.” His hand dropped painfully on her ass, then rubbed a smooth circle over her reddened skin. “You don’t get to rut into the mattress like an animal. I decide if, and when you get to cum. Understand?”_

_Betty nodded, and immediately stilled her body. Another slap landed on her ass._

_“Understand?” He repeated, walking back and forth next to the bed at a steady pace. “I’m speaking to you.”_

_She took a breath and closed her eyes, focusing only on his voice. “Yes, Jug. I understand.”_

_He pressed a kiss to the small of her back. “Good girl.”_

_Betty might’ve been shocked at how amazing he was at this if her brain weren’t currently being scramble like an egg._

_He knelt next to the mattress and licked her, angry-looking, oversensitive skin with his tongue until the whole area was wet. Her entire body was on fire. “Get on your hands and knees.”_

_She immediately lifted herself off the mattress into position, but her arms were shaking so much she could hardly hold herself up._

_Jughead sat next to her on the bed and rubbed her back. “Are you still with me, Betty?”_

_She nodded but continued to tremble._

_His hand combed her hair back from her neck and he kissed her there gently. “Answer me, sweetheart. Are you okay?”_

_Her teeth were chattering now, eyes still closed, but she managed to speak. “I’m good. Just overwhelmed.”_

_Jughead slipped through her arms and laid on his back underneath her. “I need you to open your eyes, Betty, I’ve got you.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest, then held her head over his heart. “Do you want to keep going?”_

_She was a bit more lucid now and pressed her lips to the underside of his jaw. “Yes, please.”_

_“So polite, so good for me.” His voice was low and rumbled under her cheek. “How should I reward you for that? Should I use your face or do you want me inside of you?”_

_Betty sighed and burrowed into him. “Both.”_

_“My greedy one.” He brushed a hand over her wet hair. “You’ve been good for me, so I’m going to let you have what you want. Lie on your back and let your head hang slightly off the edge of the mattress.”_

_“Okay.” She clambered into position and he stood up next to her face, then pulled his towel off, letting it drop to the floor._

_He took a step closer to her and tickled her bottom lip with the end of his cock, getting it wet. “Do you want me in your mouth?”_

_Betty wanted it so much she thought she might die. “Yes.”_

_“Okay. I’m going to fuck your face and you’re going to tap my leg if it gets too much for you. Understand?”_

_“Yes.” He hadn’t even really touched her sexually yet and she was already so wet._

_He leaned over her body and kissed both of her breasts, then slowly inched his cock into her open mouth._

_“Relax your jaw.” His hand cradled the front of her throat as he pressed his entire length into her mouth. “Oh fuck, baby, you’re doing really well.”_

_The normal worries and anxiety Betty felt every day vanished. She relaxed into the process, letting it overtake her. There was no looming field exam she had to pass, no dealing with her mom’s expectations, there was only the heavy weight of Jughead’s cock dragging through her mouth and throat._

_He began to thrust gently, his hand tightening on her windpipe. Betty’s eyes started to water and she struggled to breathe through her nose._

_“God, you feel incredible,” He said, hips harshly snapping a few times against her face. “Tap my leg if it’s too much baby.”_

_She held out, wanting to be good for him, and white spots started to form behind her eyes._

_Suddenly, he withdrew from her mouth and flipped her on her stomach. He was already sliding into her from behind before she had a chance to register his absence._

_“Betty,” He groaned, pressing farther inside of her than any man ever had. “God, I’m so deep and you’re so damn tight.”_

_She moaned and grabbed the sheets as he pumped into her at an unrelenting pace. His entire body was pressing down on hers, restricting her movement, every part of his skin touching hers rubbing against her irritated bottom. One of his hands slipped under her pelvis and began to rhythmically pinch her clit._

_“Shit!” She shouted, nearly hyperventilating from the intensity. “I’m so close. Can I—am I allowed to cum? Please say I can cum, Jug.”_

_“You can,” He whispered into her ear and she let herself go, vision blurry as she climaxed harder than she ever had in her life._

_Everything was hazy, like watching a movie with no sound. Jughead finished inside of her and collapsed on top of her, letting her bear his weight for a short time. Her eyes were still unfocused, but she could feel tears slipping out of them and dripping down her cheeks._

_He rolled off her and turned her on her back. “Betty, are you with me? Are you okay?”_

_She was too out of it to speak and the tears would not stop falling._

_He gathered her up in his arms and pulled her onto his lap, then rocked her slowly, whispering in her ear how good she was, how smart and beautiful, how this was the most incredible sex he’d ever had. She heard him urging her to come back to him, to wake up, to listen to his voice._

_Betty inhaled sharply and realized where she was. “I’m here.”_

_“Thank God,” Jughead breathed out, his voice thick with emotion, and squeezed her so hard it was uncomfortable. “You had me so worried. I thought I’d done something wrong, or—or hurt you in some way.”_

_“No.” She struggled to sit up and he rushed to help her. “Everything was perfect, it was just intense. I wasn’t expecting…I don’t know what I was expecting.”_

_He didn’t look remotely assuaged. “Did I hurt you?”_

_She cupped the sides of his face and marveled at how he managed to be so sweet yet domineering at the same time. “You didn’t hurt me. It was incredible. It felt like…God, I don’t know. Relief?”_

_“For me, too,” He said, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I, uh, I have trouble connecting to people, especially women. I’ve never really enjoyed sex beyond the physical release.” He swallowed hard before continuing to speak. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever truly liked doing this with.”_

_“Good.” She wrapped her arms around him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Can we cuddle for a little bit? I know it’s not really your thing, but I think I need it.”_

_“Blank check, Betty.” He pulled her into a horizontal position and threw his leg over hers. “That includes this and anything else you ever want from me. I’m going to look out for you.”_

_She inhaled the scent of his skin and a feeling of calm washed over her. “That goes both ways, you know.”_

 

* * *

 

The doctors told her she’d saved his life and if she had been any slower or he had injested any more of the shake he wouldn’t have lived out the night. Due to her fast thinking neutralizing the poison, the doctors were able to pump his stomach and didn’t anticipate any permanent damage. They wanted to keep him for observation overnight just to be safe. Sheriff Keller appointed a deputy to keep watch outside his hospital room, and Archie appointed himself as a backup guard, unwilling to leave his best friend’s safety up to chance.

 

“What are you going to do, Betty?” Veronica asked, as she softly stroked Betty’s head, which was resting on Veronica’s ever-shrinking lap in the waiting room of the ICU.

 

“I’m not sure yet, but whoever did this to him is going to pay for what they’ve done, even if I have to go off-book to do it.” Betty was ready to burn the world down for Jughead, until everything around them was reduced to ashes. The irony of the sentiment wasn’t lost on her, it was one of the first things real things she’d ever admitted to him about herself.

 

She knew reactions like hers were exactly the reason the FBI forbade agents working with civilians they knew, but she also knew she was too late to stop herself.

 

“Do you think,” Veronica paused, a deeply concerned expression on her face as she appearing to be collecting her thoughts, “Do you think maybe it would be a good idea to recuse yourself from this assignment? That maybe you’re too close to this, honey?”

 

Betty sat up and wiped her face with her sleeve, her eyes were puffy and painful from hours of crying. “I know I’m too close to this, but what else can I do? What would you do if it were Archie?”

 

Veronica blanched at the question, then reached for her hands. “Archie is my _husband_.”

 

“I know that, V.” Betty sat abruptly up, then shook her head in an unspoken apology. Veronica didn’t deserve to put up with Betty when she was like this, Betty could barely stand to be around herself.

 

Instead of backing off, Veronica inched closer and lowered the volume of her voice. “Betty, do you feel the same way about Jughead that I feel about Archie?”

 

“I don’t know.” Betty started to cry again and shrugged her shoulders. “When he was lying in my arms dying, all I could think about was the life we’d never get to have together. That I’d never get to kiss him again or listen to another one of his paranoid rants.”

 

Veronica pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and gently wiped Betty’s face. “You haven’t told me anything about your relationship with Jughead. What are some of the things you like most about him?”

 

“He sees me, _really_ sees me, and just somehow knows what I need.” Betty took the handkerchief from Veronica and swiped it under her nose. “I can be myself around him.”

 

“You can be yourself around me, too, you know?” Veronica looked down and ran her fingers over the scars on Betty’s hands. “I would never judge you.”

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

 

Veronica shook her head. “You don’t owe me an explanation, I just want you to know that I’m here to listen whenever.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Veronica tucked the stray hairs that had fallen from Betty’s bun behind her ears. “You’re a wreck. I’ve never seen you this upset over, well, anything, and I’ve known you over a decade.”

 

“It’s been nine years, V,” Betty corrected, full of affection for the woman.

 

“Do you think you would’ve had this same reaction to Trev or any of your other boyfriends?” Veronica’s voice was lilting and sweet, like a school teacher explaining a lesson to a slow child. 

 

“Jughead isn’t like them.”

 

“What I think,” She started slowly, “is that you’re in love with him, and maybe, you’ve been in love with him since my wedding?”

 

“That’s crazy.” Betty pressed cool fingertips over her puffy eyelids to soothe them. “I knew him for one weekend. We spent 48 hours together. You don’t fall in love with somebody in 48 hours.”

 

“Says who?” Veronica looked mildly offended at the suggestion. “There are no rules for falling in love. I knew I loved Archie a week after I met him and we’d only gone on that one date Kevin set us up on at the time. Archie offered to come meet me at student bookstore to help carry my textbooks back to my dorm. There were so many of them that they spilled out all over the main lawn and some of the journals started blowing away. He was so sweet running around like a maniac trying to pick them up for me, and I just knew at that moment that I was going to marry him one day.”

 

Betty thought back to the night of the wedding, how Jughead had seen past all her artifice and embraced her unvarnished self. She was too proud at the time to admit she swooned a little when he kissed her scars and called her perfect. But, she knew then, just as she knows now, that they were a matched set.

 

“I don’t even know if he feels the same way, V.” It was an irrational thought, but Betty wasn’t a stranger to those. What if he didn’t want anything to do with her anymore after she failed to protect him? “Or maybe he did and he’s more ambivalent about me now?”

 

“God, you are so dumb sometimes for somebody so smart.” Veronica wrapped an arm around Betty and Betty dropped her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Men don’t write books about women they feel indifferent to, and Jughead Jones hates basically everybody he’s ever met with very few exceptions.”

 

Veronica was right, but the woman usually was about most things. 

 

“I just want him to be okay.” Betty smiled sadly, then inhaled a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “You’re going to make a really great mom, V, you know that?”

 

“Of course I know that. I don’t do anything I won’t excel at.” Veronica kissed her on the top of her head. “But thank you.”

 

Betty wanted to speak to Jughead right away, but he wouldn’t be awake for hours. She couldn’t just sit there and do nothing in the meantime. She would track Malachai down. His presence at Pop’s was too weird to have been a coincidence, and though it hadn’t registered at the time, he had known her name. She would find him and question him - and if he didn’t tell her everything she wanted to know she would kill him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, don't kill me. I didn't want to leave you with a cruel cliffhanger, so you can be sure Jughead will be fine. Betty, on the other hand, not so fine.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this one. We're headed into the home stretch now and I love hearing what you all think. Thanks for all of the support you guys have given me so far. Hope you're still digging this and not creeped out by my ever-increasing kinky smut!


	9. 20 year malt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go! Unbeta'd and error-riddled, as promised!  
> Hope you like it, this one is action-packed and filled with BAMF-Betty!

_Betty drifted in and out of sleep over the last half hour, but time, as it existed within the walls of her hotel room, ran at a different speed. The minutes were more protracted, the air felt thicker, even her movements seemed to lag like a person trying to run underwater._

_As somebody who never slowed down, whose mind never unplugged, the change of pace was almost luxurious._

_However, Betty’s chronic anxiety was persistent enough to break through the spell._

_“Did you know that 24.8% of all murder victims are slain by family members?” She flipped onto her other side to face Jughead. “67% of murdered children are killed by their parents, though that number decreases with age.”_

_Jughead pressed his face into her neck and groaned. “Your brain needs an off-button, Betty.”_

_“I thought you wanted my help with the Blossom case? Isn’t that the main reason you wanted us to hang out?”_

_His head shifted against her neck and she didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were rolling at her. “Were basic observation skills not part of the profiling curriculum at Quantico?”_

_She slid down their shared pillow until their noses aligned. “Are you saying that was all a ruse to get me into bed?”_

_“No. Of course not,” Jughead said, looking somewhat affronted. “It just isn’t the ‘main reason’. I had my eye on both your dazzling intellect and your dazzling ass.” His hands grabbed her butt roughly and pulled her closer. “Speaking of which…get on your hands and knees.”_

 

_A rush of heat pooled in Betty’s belly at the coarse timber of his voice._

_“Don’t you—I thought you still wanted to talk about the murder?” She wasn’t sure why she was trying so hard to avoid being intimate with_ Jughead, _until the look in his eyes made it obvious. They weren’t simply hungry with arousal, there was something else humming just below the surface, an emotion she wasn’t sure she could to deal with. So, like most things that made her uncomfortable, she decided to repress it. “We still don’t have a definitive answer about who caused Jason’s death.”_

_“The only death I want to talk about now is ‘un petit mort’.” Without asking for permission, Jughead lifted his shirt off her body and threw it too far across the room for her to reach without getting up. “I know you’ve seen a noir film before, Betty. Sex always comes first, then murder.”_

_“You’re very presumptuous, you know? Assuming I’m even interested in having sex with you again.”_

_He leaned forward and set his mouth against the tendon of her shoulder then clamped down, sending a bolt of pain through her body. Betty gasped for air and then felt all the fight leave her, like a puppy being carried off by the scruff of its neck._

_Jughead’s mouth laved over the spot to soothe it as his fingers dipped between her thighs and gently brush back and forth over her seam. She moaned at his soft touch, the combination of pleasure and pain sparking a revelation within her._

_“You were saying?” He laughed, releasing puffs of hot hair that puckered her skin._

_“You know, I’m beginning to really hate that smirk of yours,” She said, at the same time leaning into his hand to gain more friction._

_“Wrong. You just hate that you like it.” He dragged one finger through her damp folds and then pushed it deep into her mouth, almost choking her with the pressure. “Tell me that you want this. I need to hear you say it.”_

_Betty pulled off his finger and kissed him, all thoughts of anything beyond his touch rolling away like dropped marbles. “It’s a little worrying how much I want this – and you.”_

_The smile that emerged on his face this time wasn’t filled with the earlier smugness or arrogance, it looked like hope. “God, I want you, too.”_

 

* * *

 

After extensively questioning Jennifer, the waitress at Pop’s, and determining she had no hand in what happened to Jughead, Betty was ready to set her sights a little higher.

 

When Betty phoned Malachai, she wasn’t surprised to find he had expected her. There was a reason behind his visit to her table yesterday, him handing her his calling card. When they spoke over the phone, he gave her an address and instead they meet in person.

 

Part of Betty wondered whether this could be a trap, but at the end of the day, it didn’t matter, because this was the lead she had been given and she had no desire to see Jughead carried out on a gurney again in her life.

 

Betty followed a long, vacant alley toward what looked like an abandoned building and approached the nondescript side door, pressing the button on an intercom. “It’s me.”

 

A low buzz sounded, followed by the auto-drop of tumblers within the lock. She pushed the door open with a shove and let herself in, not knowing what she’d find but bracing for the worst.

 

Just inside the building was a vast, Ghoulie-controlled ‘chop shop’, where dozens of stolen cars were being repainted, rebuilt or stripped for parts.

 

Malachai appeared from behind an office door, shirttails flowing as he drifted through a whirl of activity, parting the crowd like a guyliner-wearing Moses. “Betty! So good of you to drop by!” His arms were spread open in welcome as if this were a social call.

 

“Cut the shit, Malachai.” Betty’s fingers curled into fists as she closed the distance between them. “You obviously wanted me here, so here I am. This had better be worth my time or you’ve just fucked your business.”

 

“You’re feisty!” Malachai’s curls shook as he tossed his head back and laughed. “I like that. Come on, let’s go somewhere more private where we can talk.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes and followed the man into a small room off the main strip.

 

* * *

  

Malachai’s office walls were papered with posters of sports cars, half-naked women, rock bands and – strangely – a full-blown diagram listing the qualities of the zodiac sign Leo.

 

“Can I get you a drink?” He offered, closing the door behind her.

 

“Are you for real?” Betty whipped around to face him. “You tried to kill Jughead Jones and now you’re acting like I just dropped by to shoot the shit with you? Also, excuse me if I don’t want to accept a drink from the man who poisoned somebody’s beverage yesterday.”

 

“Betty, Betty, Betty, I’m just trying to be hospitable.” Malachai locked the office door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Also, believe me when I tell you I’m not the droid you’re looking for.”

 

Betty blinked at the random ‘Star Wars’ reference and processed the news. “You’re saying you had nothing to do with poisoning Jughead? Excuse me, but I find that hard to believe.”

 

“I never said I had nothing to do with it, I said I’m not the one you want.” He crossed the room, perched himself on the edge of his desk and poured three fingers of whiskey from an art deco decanter into a matching crystal tumbler. “Sure I can’t change your mind? This shit is 20 years old and it is magnificent.”

 

Betty knocked the glass out of his hand and it shattered into a pile of jagged pieces across the floor. “I don’t have all day, so you need to talk now or you’ll be trading in those disturbingly low V-necks you adore for an orange jumpsuit.”

 

“That was a Reichelt glass.” Malachai pouted at the remnants of his destroyed goblet and placed the stopper back in the decanter. “I was asked, as a personal favor, to go in and distract you while a day shift worker in Pop’s kitchen took care of the hit.”

 

“When I do personal favors for my friends they don’t involve murder,” She spat, the edges of her fingernails burrowing into her palms.

 

“Attempted murder,” Malachai said, flippantly, correcting her. “I heard F. P. #3 pulled through. He’s tougher than he looks, I’ll give him that.”

 

“Who wants Jughead dead?”

 

“Half of Riverdale would love to dance on his grave, darlin’.”

 

Betty lunged forward and grabbed Malachai by his many chains, twisting them around her fist until she had nearly cut off his air supply. “I don’t have time to coax it out of you like a virgin on prom night. I am at the end of my rope, asshole. Give me a name.”

 

Malachai pulled futilely at his necklaces as he struggled to breathe. “Amnesty,” he croaked out, using his last gasp of oxygen.

 

Betty loosened the chains, just enough to allow him to speak. “Give me a name and you’ll get it.”

 

He coughed a few times and nodded. “The person you’re looking for is Tall Boy.”

 

She yanked on the chain. “Why?”

 

“He wants the Wyrm. Figured it would be easier and less risky to go after junior first before trying to take out the big kahuna.”

 

“You’re telling me that a Serpent elder was planning on killing one of his own – his gang’s leader, no less? Betty released Malachai’s chains and waited impatiently for an answer while he rubbed furiously at his throat.

 

“Tall Boy’s hated the guy for years. Ever since his dad picked F. P. over him as his successor.”

 

Betty raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you getting out of this?”

 

Malachai retrieved another tumbler and poured himself some whiskey, taking a moment to swallow the entire contents of the glass. “I don’t suppose I can plead the 5th on this one?”

 

“Use vague terms.”

 

“The Serpents are pretty clean for a gang. The Ghoulies? Not so much.” He refilled his glass and corked the decanter. “Let’s just say Tall Boy was interested in having the Serpents engage in a lucrative co-venture with the Ghoulies, but F. P. wasn’t having any of it. With the Jones boys out of the way, Tall Boy would have the Wyrm and the club.”

 

“If he pulled it off, you’d have somebody to move your product. And, if he failed—”

 

“I already had his soldiers lined up. What did I need with a partner when I had everything I needed for a direct-sales model? It’s basic economics, Betty.”

 

“Well, aren’t you just the entrepreneur?” Betty had to admit, Malachai’s plan was pretty solid, he won either way. “You knew I was a fed, but he doesn’t, does he?”

 

Malachai batted his lashes at her. “Now, why would I go ahead and do something stupid like warning the guy? If ZZ Top is too old to do a basic Google search on you, that’s on him.”

 

All of this made sense to Betty, but something about the story felt unfinished. “Why stalk Jughead then? Why torment him? Tall Boy could’ve just killed him and be done with it.”

 

“You’re good.” Malachai shook a finger at her. “Look, all I know is that Tall Boy came to me with the Pop’s job because he just wanted to end it already with the kid, except he didn’t want anybody else finding out about it.”

 

“Are you saying he’s working with somebody and they’re not on the same page?”

 

“Seems that way, don’t it?” Malachai cocked his hip and leaned against the desk. “You know, I thought that thing with Jones was just a cover, but this is personal for you, isn’t it? Angry looks good on you, Agent Cooper.”

 

“It’s adorable that you think this is angry. I am very far from my boiling point now, trust me.” Betty took a step in Malachai’s direction causing him to flinch, then reached past him to grab his whiskey from the desk. She lifted it to her mouth and drained the contents of the glass. “I’ll give you one thing, Malachai, you've got good taste in liquor. This shit really is magnificent.”

 

* * *

 

The five cups of coffee Betty ingested so far that day had done little to cure her exhaustion, though she was left with a bad case of shaking hands.

 

She was desperate to hear Jughead’s voice, to see him smile at her in that way that communicated a thousand different things at once. When this was over, she planned to curl into his side and disappear for a few days.

 

The call didn’t pick up until the 5th ring - five rings too long for her patience level – but the information she got on the other end made the wait more than worth it.

 

_“His potassium levels are back up and he’s started stirring a bit, but he hasn’t quite woken up yet.”_

 

Archie’s news was like a balm for her nerves.

 

Betty sighed at the encouraging report. “Are you with him now?”

 

_“Ronnie made me go home and shower, but Toni and Sweet Pea showed up and they’ve promised to keep an eye on him while I’m gone.”_

 

That was probably for the best. They were loyal and far better-trained fighters than Archie.

 

“Can you – I don’t want him to think I left if he wakes up.”

 

_“Don’t worry, Betty, Toni’s got you covered.” Archie chuckled. “You know, I knew something happened at the wedding, but he kept denying it. It’s kind of funny because I’ve been pestering him for years, telling him how perfect you would be for each other.”_

“Really?” Betty’s eyebrows rose, Veronica never mentioned that to her once.

 

_“Well, yeah. I have eyes. It’s one of the reasons I told him to request you for the assignment. I thought maybe a few days holed up together when tensions were high…well, you know how that trope goes.”_

 

“Veronica is really rubbing off on you, Archie,” Betty said, running her fingers over a hickey just beneath the collar of her shirt. “Please let me know immediately if anything changes with his health, okay?”

 

_“You’ve got it, Betty. Just be careful out there.”_

 

“Always.” She pocketed her phone, took a deep breath, and headed for the front door of the Wyrm. If there were answers to be had within the walls of that bar she would find them.

 

* * *

  

Betty took a seat at the end of the bar and was soon approached by a well-built, Latino man around her own age.

 

“Betty, right?” He asked, setting an empty glass in front of her and filling it with something amber and expensive. “I’m Fangs, a friend of Jug’s. Toni said you’d be coming in today and that I should take care of you.”

 

“She did?” Betty was surprised by Toni’s foresight and consideration.

 

“I would’ve called in sick and kept watch at the hospital today with the others but Toni and Sweets thought it might be a good idea for somebody to stay keep an eye on the old man, in case you need back up.” He poured himself a drink and knocked his glass against hers before downing it. “F. P. just got back a half hour ago from visiting Jug. He’s in his office digging up the stuff you asked for.”

 

“Thanks, Fangs.”

 

“Hey, we take care of our own. You’re with Jug, so you’re family now, too.” He shrugged, dropping his empty glass in the sink. “Plus, Toni told me what you did for him at Pop’s and we can never repay that.”  

 

“I appreciate that, but I didn’t do it for you.” She took a sip of her drink, needing the liquid courage for what she was about to do. “Jughead is my—I don’t know exactly what he is, but he’s mine.”

 

Fangs leaned in and smiled. “I’m a sucker for a slow burn romance, girl. I’ll help you out however I can.”

 

Betty leaned in closer. “Well, since you offered...”

 

* * *

 

 

Tall Boy was nursing an empty glass of tequila when Fangs set down another one in front of him.

 

“I didn’t order this,” he growled, voice like sandpaper.

 

“It’s from the blonde at the bar.” Fangs angled her head toward Betty. “She wanted to have a word.”

 

Tall Boy looked Betty over and his face lit up with cautious interest. “She wants to speak with me, she can come over here and do it.”

 

Fangs nodded at Betty then walked toward the office, while she made her way over to where Tall Boy was playing pool.

 

Betty pulled a pool cue from the wall and tested the weight in her hands. “You like to play games?”

 

“I can tell you do.” Tall Boy licked his lips before taking a sip of tequila and continued watching her intently, like a mongoose with its prey. “I saw you come in with the Jones kid the other day.”

 

“We’ve been spending some time together.” Betty wasn’t sure if Tall Boy knew she was law enforcement, but he would soon enough. She circled the pool table and started shooting the stray balls that had been left there from the last players. “He’s mentioned you before.”

 

A throaty laugh escaped from Tall Boys lungs. “I’m sure he has. Ain’t no love lost between me and that kid.”

 

“Because of the Serpents? Or the Ghoulies?” Betty asked, casually, lifting the 8-ball from the table and tossing it once in her hand. “Or did he piss you off in some other way?”

 

“You’re cute,” He said, rising from his stool like a cobra ready to strike. “But you ask too many questions. One has to wonder why?”

 

Betty shrugged and smiled seductively at him. “Things have been a little hairy for him lately, as I’m sure you’ve heard. I don’t like the idea of being collateral damage.”

 

Tall Boy didn’t seem entirely surprised by her admission. “You look like a smart girl. I think you know the best way to minimize that risk.”

 

“I definitely know one way.” Betty nodded and continued tossing the ball in her hand. “I don’t think you’re going to like it very much, though.”

 

“That a threat?” He seemed amused by the idea.

 

Betty shook her head slowly and gripped the ball tighter. “My mother always told me threats are for people who don’t have any follow-through. I’m just stating a fact.”

 

“That right?” He appeared unfazed, but Betty could sense the cold rage behind his words. “And you’re the one who’s gonna get this done? Jones is pretty pathetic, sending ladies in to fight his battles.”

 

“He didn’t send me, Tall Boy, but I think we both know why I’m here.”

 

Tall Boy lashed out suddenly, grabbing Betty roughly by the shoulders and slamming her into the nearest wall. “You don’t come into  _my_  bar and threaten me, little girl.”

 

She smashed the 8-ball against the side of his head, momentarily stunning him enough to pull out of his grasp.

 

The few patrons there cleared away from the area, most of them fleeing the bar, as Betty leaned on the side of the pool table and tried to catch her breath.

 

“Bitch! You’re gonna pay for that.” Tall Boy regained his bearings and started after her again. Betty dodged his fist, but he still managed to grab a handful of hair, yanking hard.

 

Grappling the table, Betty snatched the nearest pool cue and used it to sweep his legs, knocking him on his ass, but his grip on her hair remained and she was pulled along with him. Pain lanced through her hip as she crashed into the wooden floor, scraping her forehead on the edge of the table.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” Tall Boy demanded, grabbing for her legs. “You sure as shit ain’t a civilian. You one of Malachai’s women? He send you?”

 

She kicked him in the face. “I sent myself.”

 

Tall Boy shook off the hit and was now foaming at the mouth with rage.

 

They struggled for a while, each gaining the upper hand momentarily before he managed to pin her to the floor with his body weight. He sat on her legs, holding her hands above her head. “I didn’t expect you to have so much fight in you, girlie. You can do better than Jughead Jones and I could use somebody like you on my team.”

 

Betty’s heart was racing in her chest. He had the weight advantage, but she was still faster and had defensive training. She twisted in his grasp enough to loosen his hold on her body, then flipped over on her stomach and head-butted his face with the back of her head. “I’ll pass.”

 

Tall Boy screamed and held his nose, which had begun pouring blood. “I’m going to kill you, bitch!”

 

Just as his free hand wrapped around her throat, Betty pulled the gun from her holster and aimed it at his face. “Not today.”

 

Knowing he’d been beat, Tall Boy leaned against the leg of the pool table, holding his nose. “You’d better kill me now because if you don’t I’m never going to stop coming after you.”

 

F. P. jogged into the main room of the pub from his office - eyes wild - with Fangs in tow. “Betty!”

 

Still breathing hard from their fight, she held one hand up to keep them back and shook her head. “I’ve got this.”

 

“Call Keller now!” F. P. instructed Fangs and edged a little closer to her, wincing as Betty shoved the butt of the gun roughly into Tall Boy’s head.

 

“I think you know who is terrorizing Jughead and I think you know why.” Betty could feel the darkness within her begin to encroach her thoughts and tried to shake it off. She wanted to waste this guy so badly she could almost taste it but reminded herself she needed him alive. He wasn’t the last piece of the puzzle.

 

Tall Boy barked out a laugh. “What makes you so sure I’m not the one going after the prick?”

 

“I know you’re the one responsible for what happened at Pop’s, but that was a rogue move, right? That wasn’t the plan.” Exhaustion setting in, she used her free hand to hold the gun steady. “You’re just meat that’s past its expiration date, Tall Boy. You don’t have the brains or the patience to organize the torture he’s lived through.”

 

“You sure about that?” He shot her a smug look, but she could see in his eyes that her insult had landed.

 

“I know it.” Betty decided to play out a hunch. She could be way off, but Tall Boy’s reaction to it would give her a better idea of what was going on. “It was you at his house the other night with the brick, and you shooting at the car. Bet it just burned you up inside not being allowed to finish him off. Sucks to be an underling, huh?”

 

“I’m not telling you a fucking thing, bitch!” Tall Boy shouted, then turned to grab her gun, which Betty cocked and pushed harder into the back of his skull.

 

“Woah! Stay cool, Tall Boy. I don’t think she’s messing around,” F. P. warned, edging a little closer.

 

“Don’t test me, asshole,” Betty hissed in his ear, thinking of all the ways Jughead might’ve been killed since he was first shot at a month earlier. “You’re nothing. You used to be a big shot, but now you’re just an over-the-hill errand boy doing somebody else’s wet work.”

 

Tall Boy narrowed his eyes at her and licked his lips. “I would’ve done it for free. Just to see the look on that asshole’s face when he saw it was me who was gonna finish him off.”

 

F. P. blanched at Tall Boy’s words. “What the fuck did you just say about my boy?”

 

“You were going to be next." Betty calmly moved the gun to the center of Tall Boy’s forehead. “I’m sorry, F. P., but he was trying to take the bar from you.”

 

“Is this true? I was really hoping I wrong about you, man.” F. P. sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Your pop always said you’d never have the best interests of the club at heart, it’s why he gave it to me. I guess he had the right idea about you, after all.”

 

Tall Boy snarled and tried to go after F. P., but Betty's gun pressed to his head kept him at bay.

 

“Who are you working for?” Betty asked, not expecting much of an answer.

 

His eyes flicked up to her gun. “That’s federally issued, ain’t it? I’m not surprised Jughead’s nailing a fed, he always was a traitor. But, I don’t talk to pigs.”

 

A look of confusion crossed F. P.’s face. "Betty?"

 

Betty sighed and pulled her phone from her back pocket, sending an alert to the nearest field office to pick Tall Boy up and process him. Now that he knew she was an officer he’d never talk. He’d also never see the outside of a jail cell again if she had her way.

 

The door to the Whyte Wyrm opened and Sheriff Keller and two deputies rushed into the room, guns drawn.

 

“Betty, do you need a hand?” Keller didn’t look too surprised to see her there. “Agent Cooper?”

 

“ _Agent_  Cooper?” F. P. shook his head at the revelation. “Are you kidding me?”

 

The blood from the cut above Betty’s eye dripped down the side of her face and she used her sleeve to wipe it away. “That would be nice, Sheriff, thanks.”

 

Keller nodded to his deputies, who immediately took Tall Boy off her hands and cuffed him. “Anything else here that needs cleaning up?”

 

She shook her head and used the edge of the pool table to awkwardly lever herself to her feet. “Somebody from my office should be by to pick up this piece of human garbage by the end of the day if you wouldn’t mind holding him for a bit?”

 

Keller smiled broadly at her. “Tall Boy and I are old pals. I’ll take good care of him.”

 

Just as the deputies were leading Tall Boy through the door, Tall Boy broke away and shouted at her, “I wouldn’t get too attached to Jughead Jones if I were you, sweetheart! She ain’t never gonna stop coming for him, you can bank on that.”

 

Keller grabbed Tall Boy by the collar and pushed him outside.

 

The moment the door shut, F.P. was on her, hands hovering over her body as if he were afraid his touch might harm her. “Are you—did he hurt you?”

 

“I’m okay.”

 

Fangs came out from behind the bar, holding a wet rag, which he used to clean the blood off her face. “That was badass, Betty.”

 

She smiled at him and shrugged. “I’ll admit, it felt pretty good to break his nose.”

 

“You’re a fed?” F. P. looked somewhat betrayed by the news. “So, you’re not Jug’s girlfriend? You’re were just there to keep him safe?”

 

“I was assigned to protect Jughead from whoever is trying to hurt him.” She took the rag from Fangs - who retreated to get the first aid kit - and held it to her head. “But, I’m …we’re also involved, which could cost me my job if it were to get out so I’d appreciate it if you both kept it under wraps.”

 

“I doubt even Jug could’ve written this plot twist.” F. P. huffed out a laugh. “But thank you, Betty, for saving my boy’s life, and I’m really glad your relationship isn't just for show.”

 

“Everybody keeps thanking me as if I had any choice in the matter.” She rubbed at the bruise that was sure to form on her hip. “I can’t lose him either.”

 

“Looks like I was right about you being good for him. And you kept your promise, too.” F. P. smiled broadly at her. “Let me just fetch that contract for you, so you can get back to the hospital.”

 

* * *

  

Betty arrived at the hospital in the late afternoon. Toni and Sweet Pea greeted her with congratulatory back pats and fist bumps. Apparently, Fangs had already relayed the details of her run-in with Tall Boy.

 

“Think about my offer, okay?” Toni put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Jug is gonna hate it, but sometimes boys need decisions made for them.”

 

“I’ll think about it.” Betty smiled at the woman as she passed through the entrance to Jughead’s recovery room.

 

* * *

 

 

Jughead was lying on the bed asleep, still and perfect, like a fairytale prince just waiting to be kissed awake.

 

Betty crawled into bed with him, careful to avoid pulling on any of his wires and wrapped her arms around his middle. He was warm and smelled like home, and after the day she’d had, he was exactly what she needed. A lump formed in her throat at the thought of how close she’d come to losing all of this.

 

Jughead began to stir and she tried to pull away, fearful that she might have hurt him.

 

His hand caught her wrist before she could leave the bed. “Always trying to run away from me while I’m half-asleep, huh?”

 

Betty turned back to look at him and spontaneously burst out into tears.

 

“Oh God, Betts, come here.” He folded her into his arms, shushing her until she had regained control. “I’m fine. I’m okay. There's no permanent damage at all, I promise.”

 

“I was really scared,” She admitted, wiping her wet cheek on his hospital gown. “I thought you were going to die in my arms, and I just—you have no idea how helpless I felt. It was the worst moment of my life.”

 

“I’m very sorry I put you through that,” He said, voice raspy from sleep, a frown shadowing his face. “But, you saved my life, baby. I told you that you were a goddamn miracle and this proves it.”

 

Afraid to jostle him, Betty reached up and brushed her fingers over his lips then touched them to hers. 

 

His eyes narrowed as he took in her face. “What happened?” He asked, rubbing his finger over the bandage on her forehead.

 

Leave it to Jughead to be concerned about her health while he was lying in a hospital bed.

 

“You should see the other guy,” She quipped, pulling his hand from her face. “I don’t want to get you worked up, you’re supposed to be resting.”

 

He sat up straighter in bed and his expression hardened. “I’m already worked up. Who did this to you?”

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

“I’ve got time.” He insisted, gesturing the monitors the nurses had hooked him to.

 

Betty sighed, knowing there was no way to avoid this conversation. “Do you remember that guy who tried to pick me up at Pop’s?” Her fingers curled up into a ball on his chest and he physically flattened them out. “He was there to distract me so I wouldn’t notice his accomplice sneaking in and dosing your drink.”

 

“It’s not your fault. You know that, right?” The weight of Jughead’s hand on top of hers increased. “Did you figure out who it was? Did he do this to you?”

 

“Yes and no.” It wouldn't easy to keep Jughead calm if the clicking of his jaw was anything to go by. “His name is Malachai.”

 

“Malachai?” Jughead growled, beginning to get as worked up as she’d feared. “Total dirtbag, definitely capable of this. Archie and I put him and a lot of his crew in jail years ago after a stupid drag race that went very wrong.”

 

“A drag race?” Betty burst out into laughter. “How is this your life?”

 

“You were a serial killer’s phone-a-friend, Betty, you’re in no place to judge.”

 

She leaned her head against his shoulder and smiled. “We are kind of made for each other, huh?”

 

“Yes, we are.” He kissed her then, and everything in the world seemed right for just a minute. “You still haven’t told me what happened to your head.”

 

“Malachai was working for Tall Boy.”

 

“That asshole actually tried to kill me?” Jughead’s entire body tensed with anger and he tried to sit up, but Betty pushed him back. “And, he put his filthy hands on you?”

 

“Hey.” Betty cupped his face to steady him. “I was serious about the other guy looking worse, okay? I broke his nose before I collared him.”

 

Jughead did an exaggerated double-take for comic effect. “You never cease to amaze me, baby.”

 

Betty held his eyes and stroked a thumb under his jaw. “I really wanted to kill him for what he did to you. I almost did.”

 

“If it were you in this bed instead of me, I would’ve been the same way.” He ran a hand through his hair, tangling for a moment in his IV wire. "Well, at least it's done though."

 

“It’s um, unfortunately not over.” She dropped her hand from his cheek and rubbed her face with it. “Tall Boy was working for somebody.” She pulled a photocopy of the addendum to the Serpent charter out of her pocket and handed it to him. “This was filed only a year ago, but it was backdated to make it look like the Aardwolf had approved it back when he was alive.”

 

Jughead unfolded the paper and skimmed it, his fingers tightening around the document when he got to the end. “Penny. Well, this certainly explains the torture." He slammed a fist on the side table in frustration. "She wasn't even out of high school when Aardwolf was alive, much less a lawyer. Who the fuck does she think she's kidding with this?”

 

Betty brushed her fingers tenderly through his hair to comfort him. “So...all this over a tattoo?”

 

He exhaled roughly and put the document to the side. “It wasn’t just a tattoo, Betty. There's much more I haven't told you.”

 

Her fingers continued, trying to soothe his nerves. “Why didn’t you?”

 

“I didn’t want you to look at me differently.” He shrugged, looking up at her with worried eyes. “My past isn’t as clean as I wish it were, and I thought—well, you’re a federal agent. Why the hell would you want anything to do with somebody like me? I was little more than a thug back then.”

 

Betty pressed her lips to his forehead and rested her cheek on his hair. “I almost lost you, do you honestly think I give one shit about your past at this point?”

 

“You might if you knew the entire story. It’s not pretty.”

 

“Then, tell me.”

 

He looked apprehensive, but she nodded at him encouragingly.

 

“I told you about what Penny did to my sister, but that wasn’t my first run in with her.” His hands began to idly twist the hem of her shirt. “I was 16 and my dad was in jail for covering up another person’s crime. I was desperate to get him out, had no resources and was living with a foster family at the time. I’d heard her name around the club – Penny Peabody, the Serpent who made good and became a lawyer. ‘The Snake Charmer’, is what they called her. People said she could help dad, and so I went to her, and—” He stopped and frowned.

 

Betty’s covered his hand with hers. “It’s okay, Juggie, I’m listening.”

 

“Dad told me not to trust her, but when she came to me and told me he’d been attacked in the prison yard, I got desperate. I wanted to keep him safe. She helped me that once, told me not to worry about paying her, that I’d do her a favor one day to make up for it.”

 

An ominous feeling took root in Betty’s gut. “What was the favor, Jug?”

 

Jughead laughed bitterly and squeezed his eyes shut. “She told me I was delivering pancake batter.”

 

“But it wasn't pancake batter, right? You were moving drugs?”

 

“I never confirmed it, but yeah, I assume that’s what it was. I told her I’d done my favor and I was out, but she’d recorded the entire delivery and used it to try to blackmail me into running more drugs. Betty, nothing ever happened to my dad, it was all a ploy to get back at him through me.”

 

Drug-running wasn’t great news, but Betty could handle it knowing he was young and easily-manipulated then. “This was before she threatened your sister and you assaulted her?”

 

He nodded, looking mortified. “I thought it was over, but then something even worse happened. She had a boyfriend, one of her dealers. He was doing a drop at a friend’s house for her son, and I guess the kid didn’t have his cash or something because Penny’s boyfriend attacked him and the mother killed Penny’s guy in self-defense.”

 

“Jesus, Jughead. Do I want to hear what’s next?” Betty felt ill. Drugs, she could handle, it was a national epidemic. But murder? “What did you do?”

 

He glanced at her once and then averted his eyes. “I helped them cover it up.”

 

“You got rid of a body?” Betty shouted in a whisper.

 

“Not the body. That part was done by…by somebody else.” He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I was responsible for ditching his car, phone, and wallet.”

 

Betty stood up and paced the room. “Does Penny think you murdered her boyfriend?”

 

Jughead shrugged. “I never stopped to ask her.”

 

“And she waited this long because…?”

 

“She was locked up not long after that. I guess she recently got out?”

 

“Oh, you  _guess_  she got out? Do you think?” Betty’s breathing picked up as she continued pacing the room. This was a nightmare. It would be impossible to hide this information from the FBI, and the moment they discovered the truth about it Jughead might get charged with a federal crime. “How could you be this stupid, Jughead?”

 

“I was 16, Betty.” He reached out and caught her hand as she passed by. "I was stupid about a lot of things, then."

 

She looked down at his hand around her wrist and bristled. “You were never 16. Neither of us ever was.”

 

Jughead slowly released his fingers from her wrist and moved them to his face. “I knew this would be it for you. There are some things too terrible to get past. I get it.”

 

He didn’t get it. He thought she was angry at him and not the situation. He thought she found his actions repulsive, and she did, but she also understood he was a kid in a bad situation. What he’d actually done to make her mad was so much worse.

 

“No,” She said sadly, sinking to the edge of his mattress. “I don’t think you do.” She reached for his hand and held it between both of hers. “I’m really furious, but not because of what you did when you were 16.”

 

“Why are you angry, Betty?” He took a deep breath and held it, looking hopeful.

 

“I think - no - I _know_ that I’m in love with you.” She blurted out, trying to keep herself from crying. “And you’ve done something that could take you away from me, maybe even put you in jail. Don't you understand, Jughead? Even if Penny doesn’t get you, I’ve still lost you.”

 

Jughead leaned forward and kissed the tears on her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her chin, and finally her lips. “I could die tomorrow and this would be enough for me, hearing you say that.”

 

She quirked her brow, confused.

 

“Betty Cooper, I’ve been in love with you since the moment you spilled your drink down that obnoxious kid’s pants at the rehearsal dinner.” He kissed her hands and held them to his cheek. “I think I may have loved you before we even met.”

 

Her heart broke at his words. Life was a fickle bitch. She finally found her other half, after a lifetime of being alone, and now she was destined to lose him.

 

“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” She whispered, her emotions spiraling into darkness.

 

Jughead coaxed her to sit on the bed and folded her in his arms, holding her tight enough to keep her immobile. “Betty, you won’t have to. You won’t. We’ll figure something out together.”

 

She pressed her face into his neck and allowed herself to weep, all the stress of the day leaking out of her drop by drop. “I thought I lost you yesterday and now I’m losing you all over again. I love you so much and I just can't do it.”

 

He angled his head down to look at her, then gingerly pressed his lips to her mouth, a little unsure of himself. “Even some of the people who are supposed to love me don’t. And you, you appear out of nowhere, like an answer to a question I never dared to ask.”

 

Betty smiled against his cheek. “Come on, Lord Byron, the doctors signed off on your release so I can take you home.”

 

He wrapped his entire body around hers and she leaned into his embrace. “I am home, Betty.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost near the end, dear readers, and I appreciate every one of you who has bothered reading, kudos-ing and especially commenting on my fic. Did you enjoy the chapter? Which parts worked for you? If you have the time, I would love to hear what you thought!
> 
> See you soon!


	10. Little Miss Maple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys showed me a lot of love for the last chapter and I can't thank you enough for all the encouraging comments.
> 
> Sorry, it took longer than normal to update, I've been slammed with grad school homework this week.
> 
> There's more dom/sub stuff coming atcha - both domme and dom - so hopefully that's your thing.
> 
> Everything is unbeta'd as always, so please expect and forgive my mistakes---esp formatting errors.
> 
> PS - I CAN’T BELIEVE CHERYL CALLED TONI TT ON THE SHOW! I’M PSYCHIC (about random unimportant stuff)!

_Betty and Jughead were sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing each other, the entire contents of her minibar littering the carpet between them._

_They may have still been young, but nobody could keep up the pace they were going at it without taking a snack break._

_“Everybody thought he was dead?” Betty asked, sifting her fingers through a pile of overpriced candy._

_Jughead popped a blue M &M into his mouth. “Cheryl told everybody he drowned, there was no reason to believe she lied...until she admitted it, that is.”_

_“You're saying Jason was alive for a whole week after he faked his death?” She asked._

_“He’d decomposed in the water, but the ME found a bullet wound in his head and placed the death well after his initial disappearance. But then they discovered he'd been frozen, so everything was corrupted.”_

_Betty frowned and examined a few types of candy until she found what she was looking for. “Okay, Jason got a girl pregnant and his parents didn’t approve, so he sold drugs for a gang to raise the cash he needed to elope, then faked his death, yet ended up actually being murdered in a vicious and personal way?’_

_Jughead threw a few M &M’s into the air and caught them with his teeth. “That about sums it up.”_

_She slowly unwrapped the Kit-Kat bar she’d chosen as she tried to tease out what seemed ‘off’ to her about all of this. “Doesn’t it seem strange to you Jason couldn’t get his hands on any of his family’s money?”_

_“No?” Jughead’s brow furrowed, clearly not understanding where she was trying to lead him. “Then again, that’s not the kind of crew I usually roll with, so I really don’t have any insight.”_

_“Well, I’ve known a lot of rich kids, and their parents usually have so much money they don’t miss a little here or a little there.”_

_“How much is a little?” He seemed mildly entertained by this idea._

_Betty separated and ate one strip of chocolate and washed it down with her bourbon and coke. “Well Veronica once wanted to get this 25 thousand dollar Chanel bag at the store, but her parents wouldn’t let her, so she withdrew a couple thousand dollars from several different accounts every week over the course of a month. Her parents never noticed, Hermoine even complimented her on her new bag and asked V to pick one up for her next time she was out!”_

_Jughead’s face screwed up into a look of disgust and he tossed the half-full bag of M &Ms onto the carpet like he’d just found a bug in it. “Why are rich people such conspicuous consumers?”_

_“I don’t really know, but if the Blossoms are as wealthy as you claim they are, then they really shouldn’t have missed any little bits of cash Jason would have siphoned off, especially if they’re very busy with their business.”_

_He scooted a few inches closer. “Are you implying they’re not rich or not too busy to notice?”_

_She plucked another strip of a Kit-Kat bar and put the end of it in her mouth, resting it there like a cigarette and affected a James Cagney accent. “I’m saying you should follow the money, pal.”_

_Jughead leaned over and mouthed the other end of her chocolate, kissing her as he crunched down on his half._

_“You never stop eating!” Betty flicked his leg. “And now you’re a thief.”_

_“I sincerely apologize Betty,” Jughead smirked at her, not looking the least bit sorry. “But when I see something delicious, I just can’t help but put my mouth on it.”_

_She made a gagging sound and fell to her side. “That was such a cheesy line.”_

_He climbed over her prostrate form and kissed her again, his lips tasting of chocolate. “I think you liked it.”_

_His hair was wild with curls, having dried funny from the bath. It was also heavily perfumed, much like hers, both of them smelling like the unbranded, free, hotel shampoo. Betty was drawn to touch it, so she dragged her fingers through his mass of waves and pulled him closer. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a hot piece?”_

_Jughead chuckled and tried to shake her fingers from his hair unsuccessfully. “You are literally the first person who has ever used that phrase in conjunction with me.”_

_“In conjunction?” Betty cooed, archly, like a pantomime character, wrapping her legs around his waist and pressing her pelvis to him in a parody of sexual intent. She was still a little drunk, but it felt good to act silly, it wasn’t something she ever got to do._

_“I’m cheesy?” He let her topple him to the ground and devolved into raucous laughter, his entire face lighting up with the action. He looked like a different person when he smiled, more amiable, almost boyish, unencumbered by his past. “You’re very lucky you’re the most attractive woman I’ve ever met because you could not get away with those Adam Sandler theatrics otherwise.”_

_Betty blew a raspberry into the side of his neck and he pinned her arms and legs to the ground with his own._

_“Be good, Elizabeth!” He tried to sound stern, but his grin took all the bite out of his words._

_Betty licked her lips and smiled coyly. “Where’s the fun in that?”_

 

* * *

 

  
They stood on the porch at Thistlehouse, both warily eyeing the ivy-covered pendant light hanging over the front door.

  
Jughead exhaled harshly through his nose, clearly irritated. “When you said you were taking me home, I assumed you meant my home, not the Bates Motel, Betty.”

 

Betty swept a hand through the air. “This is the last place Penny would think to look for you.”

  
“Yeah, for good reason,” He spat, showing off the lack of tact that already won him so many detractors in Riverdale.

 

“Welcome to Thistlehouse!” Cheryl sang out cheer from the now open doorway, looking especially 'Stepford' until Toni emerged behind her wearing micro-cut-off shorts and a low-cut leather top.

  
Jughead took one look at Cheryl and turned to leave. “Nope.”

  
Betty caught him by the shoulders and pulled him off to the side. “Juggie, you’re not coming with me, so it’s either this or a safe house. Your choice.”

 

After looking over at Cheryl and Toni, he clutched his bag strap tighter. “I’ll go with the safe house, thanks.”

 

Toni rolled her eyes so hard Betty thought she might fall down from the effort. “Stop being a big baby and unpack your bag, Jones.”

 

He looked at Cheryl, his mouth screwed into a scowl. “I’d prefer not to wake up drained of all my blood, thank you.”

 

“Jughead Jones, you goon, you’ll be safe nestled in the warm bosom of Thistlehouse.” Cheryl sighed and flipped her hair. “You know I don’t suck boys.”

 

Toni burst out laughing and opened the door wider. “Get in, idiot. I just spent eight hours sitting in front of your hospital room with a tire iron, I’m too tired to handle your paranoid bullshit now.”

 

Jughead let out a defeated growl and entered the house, dragging his feet like a sullen teenager. “I’m breaking up with you, Betty.”

 

“Sure you are,” Toni smirked at Betty, lightly patting Jughead’s back as she led him inside.

 

Betty knew Jughead was going to be difficult about being sidelined, especially being hidden away in a house with Cheryl Blossom, but Toni had the right idea instinct about keeping him safe.

 

* * *

   
Cheryl gracefully floated down the hallway, stopping frequently to gesture to random curios and paintings as she told Betty and Jughead of their historical importance like she was giving an after-hours art tour at the Met instead of begrudgingly hiding a man she hated from a horrifying gangster. “…and we’ve set you up in the East wing where you’ll have the least chance of mumsy noticing you.”

 

Betty couldn’t decide if this was cause for concern yet, but a run-in with Penelope wouldn’t be the best. “She doesn’t know Jughead’s here?”

 

“We have a mutual distaste for each other’s private lives. Mommy stays in her corner of the manor turning tricks, I get to fuck girls on my side, and we both maintain a willful ignorance where our lives intersect. It works for us.”

 

“As long as I don’t wake up with one gloved hand throttling my neck,” Jughead said, catching Betty’s eye on the last word.

 

Betty blushed as her mind immediately conjured the humid pull off his leather motorcycle gloves around her throat.

 

Toni looked at them and recoiled at the heated look between them. “Gross. Okay, well, if you need anything while you get settled in, give us a holler.”

 

With Cheryl’s grand performance now interrupted, she started to pout. “We haven’t even shown them the room yet, T.T.”

 

“I think they can probably figure it out, sweetie.” Toni shot Jughead a knowing look. “And they look eager to settle in.”

  
Cheryl caught on quickly and wrinkled her nose, then looped her arm through Toni’s as if being escorted to a cotillion. “We’re burning the sheets when you leave, hobos,” She sniffed and pulled her girlfriend away.

 

* * *

 

 

The moment the door shut, Betty was on him, pinning him to the wall, pulling at his clothes.

 

“Woah, Betty. Hey—“ Jughead held her by her shoulders to keep her from kissing him. “Talk to me.”

 

She released him immediately and jerked away. “I’m sorry. You’re probably tired, and—“

 

Their bags hit the wood floor with a thumb and his arms were around her instantly, his face buried into the side of her neck. He didn’t have to say anything, they were both thinking the same thing. With one sip of a milkshake both their lives had almost been ruined, they’d nearly lost each other. They stood there for a moment, his warmth at her back, nose nuzzling her behind the ear, breathing in unison. His hand was over her heart, anchoring her to his chest, and Betty found the symbolism ironic.

 

“You almost died in my arms,” She said, the full weight of it hitting her for the first time. “You were mine for only a few hours and I just couldn’t stop thinking how cruel and typical it would have been for the universe to take you away from me now.”

 

“I’m here,” He whispered, pulling her body more tightly against his. “You wouldn’t let me die and I refused to go gently into that good night. The universe can go fuck itself.”

 

She laughed faintly and covered his hand with hers. “I love you.”

 

Jughead’s chest rose behind her as he took a deep breath as if her words still came as a surprise to him. “And, I love you. And it’s going to take a lot more than a drugged milkshake or the FBI to keep us apart.”

 

“We could run,” She suggested, the words erupting, unbidden. “Maybe, we could go to Morocco or Vietnam – or some other country without an extradition treaty?”

 

His hand rose to her collarbone and his thumb ran tenderly down the length of her windpipe, causing her to shiver. “I’m not going to let you do that. I won’t be the reason you ruin your life.”

 

Betty dropped her head backward on Jughead’s shoulder and sighed. “If you got killed or caught it would be ruined, regardless.”

 

“We’ll find another way.” His thumb caressed the line of her jaw, the pressure increasing just a little. “Trust me.”

 

She nosed his skin and trying to find his natural scent under the medicinal tang leftover from the hospital. “Do you trust me?”

 

He took a beat before answering. “I do.”

 

She could hear the smile in his voice and echoed it with her own. “Show me.”

 

“How?”

 

Betty turned in his arms and kissed him, softly at first, though the intensity quickly grew. She knew what she needed and so did he. After being a victim of fate the last few days she needed to feel in control of something. “Take your shirt off, turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

 

He did as he was told, stretching his arms above his head and pressing his palms against the silk damask wallpaper.

 

From behind, Betty opened the fly on his jeans and dropped them to his ankles, taking his underwear with them. She tapped his right leg, then his left, and he stepped out of his clothes.

 

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

 

“You tell me.” He glanced down, his cock beginning to fill, then back up at her.

 

The sight of his erection made her palms sweat. This was always her favorite part, the excitement of not knowing what would come next but feeling comfortable enough to trust the process. “Okay. But if you feel faint or you need to stop, just do it. I don’t care how far in we are.”

 

He smiled at her over his shoulder. “I know, baby.”

 

“Head forward,” She snapped, then stepped back to admire the muscles on his back, the way they bunched up as she ran a finger down the center of his spine. He had small bruises everywhere, no doubt the result of overzealous EMTs, and Betty gently brushed her fingertips over them, dropping a small kiss on each one as she passed over it. “I hate seeing the marks they left all over you.”

 

“I want your marks, Betty.” His voice was warm and languid, washing over her like a Sunday morning. “I want to leave mine on you, too.”

 

The surge of enthusiasm his suggestion conjured was tempered by memories of yesterday's terrible events. Jughead had been through enough and that wasn’t the way she wanted to make him feel good. She shook her head, despite the fact he couldn’t see it. “Not today. Not for you, at least. Pleasure only this time.”

 

“You’re calling the shots.” He shrugged as much as his position on the wall would allow.

 

Betty stood behind him, his clothes brushing up against his bare skin and wrapped her arms around him, fingers lightly ghosting over his nipples.

 

Jughead huffed out a laugh. “This is worse torture than being spanked, you know that, right?”

 

'You're a lousy bottom." She leaned forward, took the delicate shell of one ear between her teeth, closing just enough so he could feel it. “And, you’ve done enough talking.”

 

Fingers from both hands pinched both of his nipples, clamping down firmly.

 

Jughead inhaled sharply. “Fuck.”

 

She tightened her hold on him. “Shut your mouth until I tell you what to do with it. Got it?” She punctuated the last question with a subtle jerk and he gasped but didn’t speak a word.

 

Betty set her mouth on the side of his neck and sucked gently, not wanted to leave a mark, and Jughead’s arms began to shake.

 

At once, she released both of his nipples and he let out a loud grunt, but managed to remain silent other than that. She cupped his balls with one hand, making lazy strokes down his shaft with the other. “This cock is mine.”

 

His pelvis bucked up into her hand and she stopped her movement, pausing to squeeze him at the base of his shaft. “I’m in charge. Not you.”

 

His hips relaxed back against her, but his chest was heaving hard with each puff of air. She released her grip and began to stroke him again, leisurely, as if getting him off were an afterthought. “I thought about you in that hospital robe, open at the back. It would have been so easy for me to slide my hand through the gap and touch you like this. Would you have liked that?”

 

“God, yes,” He whispered tightly, through gritted teeth. His cock grew harder in her hand, like velvet over steel. She continued at a pace she knew he would find frustrating, kneading his balls in her other hand.

 

Jughead’s forehead hit the wall and his knees locked, his skin was beginning to glow from the effort of restraint. “Please…” He eeked out, sounding close to orgasm and more desperate than before. “Betty…”

 

As punishment, she removed her hand completely. He whimpered into the wallpaper as his hands balled up into fists.

 

“Boys who can't listen well don’t get to cum.” She licked a stripe up the side of his neck. “Get on the floor. Lie on your back. Arms above your head. See if you can be better for me.”

 

He dropped where he was standing and stretched out on the Persian rug, his hands combing through the silky swirls of Merlot and marigold like a snow angel before finding their place above him. He looked beautiful like that, lying at her feet, eyes fervent and hungry as he waited impatiently for her to make her next move.

 

Betty slowly undressed, made a show of it for him, peeling off each item of clothing like she had all the time in the world.

 

His cock was flushed and stood flat against his belly, leaking against his skin, and she was suddenly anxious to put it in her mouth.

 

“Don’t touch me,” She warned, and she lowered herself backward onto his face and pressed herself against his lips.

 

Jughead groaned, and it vibrated through Betty’s entire body. “Oh.”

 

She braced her hands on either side of his hips and thrust herself against his face a few more times, falling into a rhythm.

 

“Oh God.” She breathed out as she rode his face, her fingers white-knuckling the carpet as she ground herself into his open mouth. "Oh fuck!"

 

Surprising her, he slipped his tongue inside of her and she cursed under her breath. “Yes, yes, oh God. Just like that.”

 

As Betty’s orgasm began to build, she leaned over his lap and took his cock into her mouth, swallowing him down to the base. Having him inside of her, on her, under her, was too much. The sound of his moan set her off and her body shuddered to completion with a shout, breath catching in her chest as she yelled his name.

 

“Wha--?” Betty’s body was still reverberating when she felt him sit up behind her and gently slide her to her knees. 

 

“My turn,” He drawled playfully and covered her mouth with his hand to keep her from protesting.

 

Betty squeaked as he bent both of her arms behind her and trapped them against his chest.

 

“Come on, be good for me,” Jughead whispered hotly into her ear as she struggled against his hold. “You are such a tease, not letting me touch you. Edging me like that?” She felt the warm slide of his cock against the crease of her ass. “You were so naughty, Betty.” His hand pressed between her legs and spread the dampness around with his finger, making her even wetter. “God, you’re so ready for me.”

 

She wiggled against him as she fought to pull away, enjoying the way he held her even tighter, immobilizing her.

 

Jughead pushed inside of her, his bite setting against her shoulder as he thrust himself as far inside of her as he could fit. “Baby, you feel incredible.”

 

With her arms pinned and mouth held shut, Betty let herself be used, relinquishing total control of her body to him. Her awareness of everything was muted and her surroundings blurred, unable to focus on anything but the slippery push and pull inside her as his hips snapped punishingly against her ass.

 

He released one of her arms and guided her hand between her legs, pressing her fingers to feel where their bodies were joined. His shaft skimmed under her fingers, soaking them with each pass. “Do you feel me? I could live inside of you forever. Will you let me?”

 

Tears sprung to Betty’s eyes as she nodded her head. There wasn’t anything she wanted more than to have him with her always. She almost lost him to gang violence and she’d be damned if she let anybody else try to take him from her again, the U.S. government included.

 

“Fuck, I love you,” He whispered, gruffly, continuing to fill her while nipping at her hairline with his teeth. “I love you, Betty Cooper. I love you.”

 

He moved her fingers to her core, grinding them into her clit, guiding her fingertips into sloppy, haphazard circles. A flare of warmth kindled between her legs which quickly rose to a simmer.

 

Jughead’s hips faltered and his head fell against her, sweat-slick forehead grazing the top of her spine. “I can’t-I’ve got to cum, baby. I can’t hold out.”

 

He worked her hand harder against her center, rubbing her fingers persistently until sparks of energy ignited her blood. Betty sobbed and struggled to pull air through her nose as his hand slipped higher on her face, inadvertently blocking her breathing. After a moment of panic, Betty relaxed into the sensation of oxygen deprivation, trusting Jughead to catch her. Just as her consciousness began to fade out, her vision exploded into a blinding white, shattering her into a million pieces as she reached her highest high.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re back.” Jughead exhaled roughly in relief and kissed her temple, leaving his lips to linger there.

 

Betty looked around and noticed they were now on the bed. She was sitting in his lap, cradled against his chest, and he’d folded the end of the blanket over her shoulders to keep her warm. “What happened?”

 

“I think, maybe, you fainted?” He looked away embarrassed, then rubbed his forehead against her shoulder like a cat. “I must’ve had my hand over your nose without realizing it, and—God, that’s really fucked up. I’m so sorry, honey.”

 

The guilty cast of his features melted Betty’s heart.

 

Her arms were loose in their sockets from being pinned behind her, like a Barbie doll some kid had ripped the arms off once too often. She mustered up the energy to bring her palm to the side of Jughead’s face as proof that she was fine. “I’m okay. And you didn’t do anything I didn’t want. You know that I like—that I like— _that_.” She felt silly for being self-conscious about anything while she was with Jughead, but the term ‘erotic asphyxiation’ would never flow easily from the lips of Alice Cooper’s daughter.

 

“No.” He shook his head, still clearly troubled by his negligence, and a shadow doubt flickered behind his eyes. “That’s not something you surprise a person with, no matter how much you know they normally like it.”

 

“Yes, but I know you would never let anything bad happen to me and so do you.” She stroked the side of his face tenderly, trying to will him in to ease. He was always too hard on himself and she couldn’t stand to be another cause. “You didn’t do this on purpose, Juggie.”

 

He sounded more pained than she’d ever heard him. “That’s the point. I should have better control when it comes to you. If I ever hurt you—“

 

“Stop.” Betty pinched his cheek to make his face relax. “You would never hurt me. You noticed something happened and you took care of me. I forgive you and I promise we’ll get a better failsafe in place for next time, but you’ve got to let this one go and stop beating yourself up about it.”

 

Jughead’s expression was utterly mystified. “I’ve been sitting here for the last three minutes tormenting myself, sure that you were going to dump me the moment you came to.”

 

Betty shook her head, finding his assumption disturbing. Did he actually think her affection for him was so shallow that he wasn't allowed to make mistakes and be forgiven? She walked two fingers up the valley of his chest and pressed them against his lips to keep him from interrupting her. “I’m not going to take off every time something goes wrong. I will never leave you. I don’t think I can. You’re ‘it’ for me, okay?”

 

He pulled her hand from his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, Betty. I mean, I’m obviously not going to hold you to anything - it’s just - I have trouble enough believing anybody wants to be with me, much less somebody like you.”

 

Betty sighed and carded her fingers through his dark hair. She was no stranger to deep wounds, but getting over the rejection of a parent was on a whole different level. This fear of abandonment would be with him forever, shadowing all his relationships. “I’m choosing you, not because I have to but because I want you. Because we make each other better.”

 

“That’s sweet but it probably won’t be your overriding thought as you visit me in the conjugal trailer at the state penn.” His arms wrapped around her waist and rested his head on her chest with a scowl. “If you do end up bringing Penny in for attempted-murder, don’t think for a second she won’t try to lessen her sentence by throwing me under the bus for murder.”

 

“But you’re not guilty of murder! She can say whatever she wants, but if she doesn’t have any proof…” Betty felt Jughead’s arms tighten around her waist and a sinking feeling took hold in her gut. He still wasn’t being completely honest with her. “Jug, what does she have on you?”  

 

He was silent for what felt like an eternity, then dropped his arms from her waist and shuffled her off his lap to the mattress next to him. “The cops dredged the lake and found the guy’s car and phone. I’m not sure if my prints are still on it - I was never arrested as an adult for anything so I’m not in the system - but it could still mean something.”

 

“You think if Penny tells them who to look for they’ll get a warrant for your prints.” Betty’s head dropped into her hands. This thing was getting worse by the minute, and the fact that Jughead was doling out the details so reluctantly, forcing her to work for them like she was squeezing the last bit of toothpaste from the tube, wasn't allowing Betty to get ahead of the problem. “What else aren’t you telling me, and don’t lie to me Jughead, because I will know.”

 

“What do you want to know?” He looked scared, which meant it had to be something truly big that he’d been keeping from her.

 

“Who killed Penny’s boyfriend?” She asked, bitter she had to keep pressing.

 

He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t even know her really, she was a friend of my—a friend of a friend, and she’s in the wind now, took her kid and left a few days after the body was taken care of. Nobody has heard from her in years.”

 

He was stonewalling her again and her irritation with him began to rise, making her testy. “Who was your friend, then? The one who got rid of the body?”

 

He looked up at her, his blue eyes overcast and cloudy with guilt. “I can’t. Betty, I love you, but I can’t.”

 

Betty scrambled off the bed and angrily collected her clothes from the ground, putting each piece on as she retrieved it. “You’re so scared that I’m going to leave you, but what about me? You’re practically packing a bag for when they cart you off to prison.”

 

Jughead came around from the other side of the bed and tried to steady her wrists as she attempted to pull her trousers on, but Betty jerked away from him.

 

She held up her palm to keep him from coming any closer. “You’re a hypocrite, you know that? You expect me to trust you when you won’t even trust me.”

 

“I do trust you!” He yelled, wiping away a tear that escaped his eye. “But I can’t give you this. I’d rather be arrested.”

 

Betty stared at Jughead for a moment, a clearer picture forming in her mind. Whoever he was protecting was somebody he’d be willing to go to jail for. She could only think of three people who fit that bill, and only one of them was a convict on his second strike. “Your dad got rid of the body.”

 

Jughead turned and kicked his duffel bag, sending it across the room, then grabbed his discarded jeans off the carpet and pulled them on. “Leave it alone, Betty.”

 

“You know very well I won’t.” Now fully dressed, Betty perched herself on the edge of the mattress and crossed her arms, stubbornly.

 

He stood in front of her, hands open in apology. “Please, baby. You can’t ask me to flip on my dad. He finally got his life back together -- and he's sober. If he gets nailed for this, he’ll never see the light of day again.”

 

She rubbed at her forehead, suddenly bone-tired. There were so many things she was feeling for him right now, but the overriding emotion was still fear. “Then we need to find a way to silence Penny.”

 

Jughead’s eyes widened then his expression fell off, cautiously devoid of emotion. “You’re not suggesting we  _kill_ Penny, are you?”

 

Betty groaned and rolled her eyes. “I’m still a cop, Juggie! Of course not! There are other ways of making sure people don’t talk. Maybe we could reason with her?”

 

He snorted laugh and sat next to Betty on the bed, his mood lighter than it was a moment ago. “You’re assuming she’s reasonable. You'd have better luck killing her.”

 

“She has to want something we can give her? Everybody always does.”

 

“She wants me dead, Betty.” He slipped his hand on her thigh and glanced at her through his peripheral vision to make sure it was okay. “That’s what she wants.”

 

Betty covered his hand with hers and squeezed it to let him know she was still with him, despite her frustration.

 

Betty thought of the first time they brainstormed together like this when Jughead was still trying to solve Jason Blossom’s murder, and a kernel of an idea jumped into her head. It was insane, but this whole situation was so absurd she figured it wasn’t any crazier than any other suggestion. “Then, that’s what we’ll give her.”

 

Jughead turned to look at her, confusion dimming his face. “Betty, I don’t—“

 

“You’re going to have to die, Juggie.” She grabbed his other hand and folded it between hers. “Just like Jason Blossom did at Sweetwater River.”

 

* * *

   
Betty and Jughead were back on one of Cheryl’s uncomfortable sofas, waiting for Toni to speak. Betty was still angry with Jughead from earlier, but her current priority was keeping him alive, she could yell at him later for his lack of trust and honesty.

 

They were going to need assistance in faking Jughead’s death, and the only way to do that effectively would be with the help of some of Jug’s old friends in the Serpents.

 

Jughead shifted in his seat, the antique sofa squeaking with the motion. “Which way are you leaning on this one, Toni?”

 

Toni opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by a shout coming from the other room.

 

“Why don’t you just kill the bitch?” Cheryl’s yell echoed from a nearby room and Jughead dropped his head to Betty’s shoulder in defeat.

 

“Babe, this is a private conversation!” Toni hollered back, with the resigning of a woman used to being circumvented by her girlfriend.

 

Cheryl emerged from the adjoining room and leaned against the door frame, wearing a cherry red romper. “Nothing is private when it’s spoken in the braying voice of Jughead Jones.” She sauntered into the room, giving herself an invitation to enter.

 

Toni looked up at her in warning, expression tight. “Cher…”

 

“Toni, seriously, that one has a gun,” she said, pointing to Betty. “She’s his boo. There is a _gang member_ out to kill Jones. If somebody were coming after me, you’d kill them, wouldn’t you?”

 

“I'm not going to answer that question when there is a federal agent sitting  _right there_.” Toni batted her eyes at her girlfriend. 

 

Cheryl shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”

 

“Um, it’s illegal?” Jughead snapped, sounding even more on edge than earlier.

 

Cheryl snuffled a laugh and fell sideways into Toni’s lap. “I’d call you a pussy, Jones, but pussies are strong.”

 

Betty raised both hands before Jughead could retort. “Okay, this isn’t helping. Can we focus on the plan?”

 

“So, you were saying before, you want the Serpents to work with the Ghoulies?” Toni asked, her lips struggling to form the words as if they were curdling in her mouth.

 

Betty shook her head. “Not the Ghoulies, Toni,  _one_  Ghoulie.”

 

“Yeah, the worst one.” Toni looked like she’d bitten into a bad nut. “He’s fucking bonkers, even by Ghoulie standards. He’s legit like a low-level, Austin Powers villain. None of my crew wants anything to do with Malachai.”

 

“Not even if it could keep Jughead alive?” Betty sat forward on the sofa, praying she could convince the other woman to help.

 

Toni exhaled and leaned back in her seat, her hands holding Cheryl’s legs to keep her in place. “It’s going to be a tough sell, but…for some reason, we all seem to like this asshole.”

 

Jughead smiled. “This asshole likes you, too.”

 

“Yawn.” Cheryl examined the nails on her right hand.

 

“Okay, but how are you going to get Malachai to go along with it, Betty?” Toni asked, ignoring Cheryl's outburst. “He’s not exactly the Serpent’s number one fan.”

 

Betty recalled the way Malachai squealed as she twisted his chains around his neck, then bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling at the memory. “I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.”

 

Toni smirked, getting a general idea. “Good to know.”

 

“Okay, but we’ve got to do it somewhere really public, right?” Jughead asked, looking to Betty for verification. “I’m a bit of a recluse, for obvious reasons, so I’m going to need a little help with suggestions.”

 

Toni lifted her hands from Cheryl’s legs. “Public events aren’t really my thing.”

 

“There’s always the Little Miss Maple Festival,” Cheryl suggested, with a flip of her fiery mane. “It starts tonight, but the really big event is the pageant tomorrow at noon. I’m officiating, naturally.”

 

Jughead looked at Betty and nodded. “Do you think we can get Penny there?”

 

“I’ll work it out,” Betty assured.

 

“What are you going to do about the cops?” Toni asked. “Keller can be kind of a territorial douchebag.”

 

Betty smiled at her. “Sheriff Keller and I are pals. I went to university with his son, Kevin.”

 

“No shit?” Toni jabbed a thumb in Jughead’s direction. “That how you met this one?”

 

“Kind of?” Betty looked at Jughead, deferring the explanation to him.

 

Jughead took Betty’s hand and interlaced their fingers. “Kevin set Archie up with Veronica and I was the best man at their wedding, Betty was the maid of honor. Being in in that wedding was pretty much the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

Betty gaze softened at him. “Me too.”

 

“How nauseatingly cute, you saps.” Cheryl’s tone may have been snide, but Betty could tell that part of her was sincere. “Well, I’m a sucker for true love, so you can count me in.”

 

Toni, Jughead, and Betty all stared slack-jawed at the woman.

 

“What?” Cheryl asked, looking down at her romper as though checking to see if she had spilled something on it. “Oh, don’t look so surprised,” She grumbled. “I told you I was a bitch before because I was unmedicated, but I’m totally cool, now.”

 

"Frigid, even," Jughead mumbled under his breath.

 

Betty looked at Jughead, already knowing he hated the idea of accepting Cheryl's help. “We could really use somebody on the inside, just in case we need a distraction.”

 

Jughead let his head smack loudly against the back of the stiff sofa.

 

Betty took his response as a ‘yes’. "Okay then, Cheryl. You're in."

 

Cheryl practically preened at confirmation of her inclusion. “So, the most important thing I need to know is this: what do I need to wear?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS 'THE DEATH OF THE AUTHOR'--get it??
> 
> I'm going to say now, there's a 99% chance there will be an epilogue added to this fic, as I can't imagine how I'd wrap things up in just one more chapter.
> 
> I know this story has been a crazy ride, so hopefully, the plot is all still making sense and the sex scenes remain hot and not cringey.
> 
> Thank you so much to everybody who has commented, kudos'd and especially those who have rec'd this fic on Tumblr, etc., as it's not getting a huge amount of foot traffic. I have the very best readers and appreciate each and every one of you!
> 
> If you have the time and the energy, I would love to hear what you thought of this last chapter! I dig getting feedback from you.


	11. The beginning and the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG READERS!! This is done! We've made it! I really hope you enjoy this.
> 
> BEWARE of kinks: NSFW.
> 
> As usual, unbeta'd and likely riddled with errors.

_Betty’s hands were sticky and the hot flush of embarrassment still stained her chest. She wiped her hands onto a nearby cloth napkin and tossed it on an empty tray. It was stupid to get so worked up over a preteen kid, but whoever was teaching that boy about women was doing a lousy job. Somebody needed to school him on the drawbacks of objectifying people._

 

_As she smoothed down the creases of her dress the back of her neck began to prickle lightly. She knew enough from her training that somebody was watching her. Betty glanced around the room and her eyes fell on a man wearing a navy suit paired with a tie that had little gold crowns on it.  She recognized him as Jughead Jones, from the brief introduction Archie gave them earlier in the day. He was meant to be her male counterpart during the ceremony, but they’d barely exchanged more than a few words other than deciding which foot to start walking with as they rehearsed him escorting her down the aisle._

 

_Jughead was staring at Betty with a smirk gracing his lips. She wasn’t sure if he was laughing at her, at the kid, or the situation in general, but she was too sober to deal with any of it._

 

_“Can I help you?” She snapped, sounding much harsher than she meant to, as she turned around to glare at him._

 

_His smile fell from his face, though he still took two halting steps forward. “I, um, you handled that well, I thought.”_

 

_Her eyes widened with the compliment. He’d been snarky every other time he’d opened his mouth that day, so she hadn’t been expecting anything resembling grace. Despite his opinion, she still felt supremely embarrassed by her behavior. “You saw the whole thing?”_

 

_The suspender straps hanging at his waist swung as he took another few steps forward, then stopped, apprehensively, and shifted his weight. “I did. A kid like that is never too young to be slightly humiliated by a beautiful woman. It’s character-building. One day, his future wife will owe you a fruit basket.”_

 

_Betty blinked at the compliment, it was certainly off-brand from what she’d seen of him so far. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience?”_

 

_He smiled at the carpet and fiddled with his suspender straps. “I’ve had more than my fair share mocking from beautiful women, though it was mostly just the cheerleaders in my high school cackling as their meathead boyfriends shoved me against the lockers after football practice.”_

 

_Betty’s brow furrowed and she felt a twinge of guilt due to her former life as a cheerleader. “Did you do something to piss them off?”_

 

_“I had the audacity to rock a ‘My Chemical Romance’ aesthetic in a small upstate village.” He gestured to the suspenders and then the woolen beanie on his head. “This hat doesn’t exactly fly in the fly-over parts of New York State, particularly when worn during the summer months. Apparently, I’m a weirdo.”_

 

_Betty smiled at his response and took a small step in his direction, finding herself wanting to know more about this strange man. He was a jumble of incongruencies, both world-weary and boyish at the same time, but she always was a sucker for solving puzzles. “Jughead, right?”_

 

_“That’s right.” He took her question as an invitation and made his way over to the bar._

 

_“I’m Betty, in case you forgot.” She extended a hand to him, which he held instead of shook._

 

_“I didn’t forget.” Jughead laughed softly and released her hand. “So, what has you playing bartender tonight, Betty?”_

 

_She looked around and shrugged. “I got thirsty and the guy working this section kind of vanished. I didn’t feel like waiting.”_

 

_He narrowed his eyes, which Betty noted matched the color of his suit. “What has you feeling so thirsty? Not a fan of weddings?”_

 

_Betty sighed and pulled out two glasses, a quick glance confirming his interest in her making him one, too. “I’m a fan of marriage, and I’m a fan of Veronica and Archie, but I could do without the dog and pony show.”_

 

_“Is it the dog or the pony you find so offensive?” He sank down on the nearest bar stool and leaned his chin on his fist._

 

_Betty chuckled and pulled a bottle of Bourbon from the rack. “I’m not a huge fan of people staring at me. It makes me feel like a specimen.” She poured a few fingers in each glass, added a splash of coke, some ice, and a twist of lemon rind, then slid one across the bar to Jughead._

 

_“You sound like you have some experience with that. Chin Chin.” He knocked the bottom of his glass against hers and took a sip of his drink._

 

_“Let’s just say my mother was a stickler for details and I lived in fear since I couldn’t get them right most of the time.” She took a large gulp from her glass and enjoyed the warm burn of the alcohol in her throat. Off his concerned look, she shook her head. “No, she didn’t beat me or anything. Her disapproval was more…insidious. The kind of thing that chips away at your sense of self.”_

 

_Betty had no idea why she was spilling her guts to him like a drunk after ‘last call’ when she’d barely had a sip of alcohol. Correcting that, she downed the rest of her cocktail, hoping to drown out the horror of her word vomit, then looked up at him shyly to judge if she’d scared him off. Instead of disdain, she was surprised to find him rapt with attention. At that moment, she decided his eyes were even nicer close-up._

 

_Jughead seemed pensive at first, then nodded his head. “I honestly can’t decide if it’s worse being abandoned totally or having somebody tear you down bit by bit. I wouldn’t know about the tearing down part.”_

 

“ _Your mom left you?” Feeling instantly guilty for complaining about her mom to a possibly parentless guy, Betty bit her lip and shifted away. “Well, now I feel like an asshole.”_

 

_His hand grabbed her wrist before she could turn. “You’re not the asshole, Betty, they are. We’re not our parents.”_

 

_Betty’s breath caught in her chest and she turned to really look at Jughead. She had misjudged him as a hipster who reveled in the façade of disillusionment, but it turned out that none of it was pretension, it was all heart-breakingly genuine. Suddenly, he became far more interesting to her. He released her wrist from his grip but left his hand there._

 

 _“What’s_   _your favorite movie, Jughead?” Betty asked, wanting to diffuse the heavy moment._

 

_Her response seemed to have pleased him because he shot her a smile so dazzling it nearly made her knees weak. “My actual favorite or the one I tell everybody is my favorite?”_

 

_Jughead was unpredictable - something most people thought they were but really weren’t - and Betty felt a kernel of interest in him starting to take shape. “Both?”_

 

_“I tell everybody my favorite movie is ‘Kill Bill’, which is great and I love it, but it’s not what really sets my soul on fire.”_

 

_“Which movie is that?” Betty leaned her chin on her fist, mirroring his body language, and listened intently._

 

_“’Cinema Paradiso’.” His eyes lit up at the memory of it. “There’s just something about that kid who basically raised himself…he was so successful in his career but just such a fuck up in his romantic life. He didn’t know how to love, nobody had ever taught him. And then at the end—”_

 

_“The kisses,” Betty supplied, getting swept up in the moment. The film was one of her favorites, too, from her freshman year film class. “I cried so hard at that part. All of the kisses that the old man was forced to cut out of the movies for being too racy—”_

 

_“Yes!” Jughead slammed his hand on the bar for emphasis and Betty felt it echo in her someplace deep. “It was kind of like the kid’s life. All of the kisses had been cut out, all of the love, and it wasn’t until the end when the old projectionist died and left him that film reel of missing kisses spliced together that he realized somebody actually had loved him all along, that he was worthy of being loved.” He looked down at his drink, somewhat overcome with emotion, and Betty’s skin felt suddenly oversensitive._

 

_“Are you like that little boy, Juggie?” She wasn’t sure why she called him that, but the warm look he shot her told her it was okay._

 

_The corner of his mouth lifted into a wry smile. “Maybe.”_

 

_Betty instinctively covered his hand with her own. “There must be somebody, somewhere who has a reel of missing kisses for you. I’m sure of it.”_

 

_He swirled the remaining liquid in his glass and downed it quickly before looking back up at her, eyes burning with intensity like the bluest part of a flame. “That’s what I’m hoping for, Betts.”_

 

* * *

 

 

It was half-past two in the morning, and Betty had yet to find a comfortable position to sleep in, despite having rearranged her limbs about 20 different times. According to Cheryl, the mattress they were sleeping on was made from Swedish horse hair (the base model started at ten thousand dollars), but Betty could have lain on clouds and she still wouldn’t have been able to find her way to slumber. 

 

There was a ‘supermoon’ hanging low and bright, lighting up the bedroom through the gauze-covered, terrace windows, and the shrill singing of cicadas littering the Blossom estate was constant and grating. Neither made it easy for her to relax, but it was the anxiety currently winding its way through Betty’s chest, tightening around her lungs like a boa constrictor, that really prevented her from drifting off.

 

Within hours, Jughead’s entire life - and by extension, hers - could change for the better…or much, much worse, and her thoughts just would not settle.

 

Betty burrowed into Jughead’s side and buried her face into his chest, inhaling his scent. If this ended up being the last time she had him in her arms she would make the most of it, imprinting every minute detail on her memory.

 

A large, warm hand moved up her spine and settled on the back of her neck, squeezing it gently. “Having trouble sleeping, baby?” He asked, voice rough from sleep.

 

Betty nodded and draped an arm over his stomach, pulling herself closer to him. 

 

“Me too.” Jughead’s response was tentative, but his hand was still a solid presence on her neck. “I don’t like how we left things earlier.”

 

She agreed with him, obviously, but now wasn’t the best time to talk when they should be resting. Then again, leaving things murky was keeping them both up, which was equally as unhelpful. “Do you want to talk about it, now?”

 

“I think I have to.” His curled a lock of her hair around his finger, released it and wrapped it up again.  “I don’t want to do what we’re doing tomorrow without clearing the air first, because if something were to happen, I don’t want our last conversation to have been an argument.”

 

Her stomach dropped at the implication. “Jug, don’t even say that…”

 

“Listen,” He started, clearly anxious. “I’ve only ever had myself to rely on in the past.”

 

“I know you don’t like being dependent on me.” She understood why, but it stung nonetheless.

 

He laughed bitterly and tightened his hold on her neck. “No, Betty, I do and that’s the problem. It’s just, I’ve never had anything like this before. I don’t know what to do with it.”

 

Betty kissed the bare skin on his chest over his heart and tapped her fingers against it twice. “You don’t have to _do_  anything with it.”

 

”I’m so completely out of my depth, but I need you.” The admission made him sound younger than his years.

 

She reached up to caress his face. “I need you too.” 

 

He took her hand and pressed it to his cheek like a security blanket. “I just hope you’re willing to be patient with me. I promise I’ll eventually learn to do this right.”

 

“There is no right or wrong, Jug, other than just trusting me and always being honest - as I will always be with you. I’m not going anywhere. I refuse for this to be the last time I hold you like this,” She said, voice cracking at the end.

 

Jughead sighed heavily, then turned and planted his lips near the cut on her forehead, leaving them there for a while. “I believe in your plan Betty and I believe in you.”

 

She was caught by the way the moonlight played upon the planes of his face and traced them with her finger. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

 

Jughead grunted as he sat up against the headboard, pulling her with him. “You keep this up and you’re going to give yourself the  _yips._ ”

 

It wouldn’t be the first time Betty had psyched herself out. It used to happen often in high school, but she hadn’t felt this raw in a while. “Having another person’s life in your hands is just—it’s not easy. And I know from experience that good intentions aren’t always enough to keep everybody safe.”

 

He leaned his cheek on the top of her head and threaded his fingers through the loose hair at her nape. “You were a teenager then, going up against a grown man. And, need I remind you that you beat him?”

 

She wrinkled her nose at the compliment. Though technically Jughead was right, nothing about her experience with the Black Hood felt like a win. “Not before he took a few more victims.”

 

Jughead tugged her hair gently to force her to look at him. “You said before we make each other better. Do you really believe that?”

 

“Of course, I do,” She whispered quickly, not needing to think about her answer.

 

“In a matter of hours, we figured out the Blossom case, something I’d be wracking my brain to solve alone for months.” 

 

She shook her head in protest. “You would’ve gotten it on your own eventually.”

 

“Yes, I know. But it was faster together because we are _better_ together.” His eyes flashed with determination, the set of his jaw strong and immobile. “I can’t promise everything is going to go perfectly tomorrow, but I know we’ll come on top because we are a force.”

 

The pressure on her chest eased, allowing her lungs to fill with air again more easily. She’d tried pain, meditation, drugs, and a bunch of other, more unorthodox methods, but somehow, Jughead Jones could center her like nothing ever had. “Yes, we are.”

 

“That’s my girl.” He briefly kissed her lips, then sunk back into to a horizontal position with her in his arms. 

 

She rubbed her nose against his jaw. “Anybody ever tell you to ditch this crime gig and write motivational speeches instead? You’d make a killing.” 

 

Jughead laughed and kissed her nose. “It was kind of my oeuvre during my brief stint as a gang leader.”

 

“Really?” Betty perked up at the tidbit of information. “You gave speeches like the coach from ‘Friday Night Lights’?”

 

“We were closer to ‘The Mighty Ducks’.”

 

She wiggled closer to him and hummed. “Good looking and cool under pressure. How did I get so lucky?”

 

“The appearance of calm is all a carefully constructed artifice. I could actually use a distraction if you’re up for it?” He glanced down at her, his expression giving nothing away.

 

She raised an eyebrow and rubbed her hand over the light dusting of hair on his chest. “What kind of distraction did you have in mind?”

 

Jughead was silent for a moment before finally speaking. “Tell me a story.”

 

Betty chuckled and lightly nudged him in the ribs. “And, I was going to suggest a blow job, silly me. Hey, you’re the author, why don’t you tell me a story?”

 

“I want to hear your story.” He swallowed loudly and palmed the back of her neck again, large fingers spanning around the sides of her throat. “Tell me a story about the future.”

 

Betty understood then that she and Jughead were being kept awake by two completely different things. While a lifetime of wrestling with crippling self-esteem had rattled her confidence, his anxiety was rooted in something much harder to shake. He needed reassurance that this was real, that she wouldn’t leave him or abandoned him once the job was done.  

 

She covered the hand he was resting on his stomach and interlocked their fingers. “My story hasn’t been written yet, Juggie. A new one started the day I was assigned to your case and I haven’t figured it out yet.”

 

Betty had doubted her career choice for a while now, but never so much as she had over the last week. The FBI hinged on an adherence to certain standards and rules, and while she’d had a lot of practice with that growing up, it just wasn’t what she wanted to be, anymore.

 

“What does that mean?” His voice sounded carefully neutral. 

 

“I’m not sure what if means, but I’m not afraid of uncertainty anymore. The only thing I know is that I want to be with you. The rest of the details we can work out as we go along.” She brought their joined hands to her lips and kissed the side of his thumb. “Do you ever think about how close this was to never happening, like if you hadn’t needed an FBI detail or they’d said no to your request?”

 

Jughead rolled on his side and cupped her face. “We would’ve happened eventually.”

 

She looked at him skeptically. “How can you be so sure?”

 

“I’d like to think I would’ve eventually worked up the nerve to hunt you down…but, if not, we would’ve seen each other again at the baby’s christening. We’re the little one’s godparents, so we were always meant to be a matching set.”

 

Betty was certain she would’ve been just as weak for him a few months from now as she was today, and knowing that they were inevitable, that they wouldn’t have missed their second chance, after all, was oddly comforting. “What if I wasn’t single?”

 

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “You would’ve been the moment I got you behind one of those pews.”

 

She turned on her side to face him, then brushed back his always errant lock of hair. “Well, I’m glad we’re both pathetically gone for each other, otherwise you would be insufferable.”

 

He grinned, then leaned down to kiss her, slow and wet, with so much emotion even her toes tingled. One of his hands disappeared between her legs and brushed over the crotch of her panties, knuckles dragging across the fabric. “I’m dying to taste you, Betty. I want to feel you on my tongue.”

 

Betty inhaled sharply at his declaration, and his knuckles brushed more firmly against her center. It’s was crazy how quickly her body always responded to him, but she wasn’t up for their usual antics. She felt fragile, like something that needed to be swathed in bubble wrap and placed on a high shelf for safe keeping. “Can we—I don’t want—”

 

“Okay, okay,” He whispered against her lips, his knuckles making another pass between her legs. “I know what you want and I’m going to give it to you.” It was uncanny how well he could read her. 

 

He held her sweetly and pressed gentle kisses along her hairline, a soft, vanilla haze enveloping them both. Betty lifted her hips as he tugged at her underwear, dragging them slowly down her legs.

 

Jughead brought them to his face and inhaled her scent before depositing them on the night table. “I didn’t know I could ever want anybody like this, I thought it was impossible for me. But then I met you and God, I want you - all of you - and I want to give you all of me.”

 

“Then, do it.” Betty’s breathing picked up to a canter, and she lifted her t-shirt above her head, throwing it into the dark void of the bedroom.

 

Both of his hands held her head in place, his fingers digging into her neck as he kissed her, hard at first before melting into something dreamy and sensual. Their eyes locked and he kissed his way down her chest, stopping to tease her nipples until they tightened under his tongue, then dipped his tongue into her navel before ending his journey between her legs.

 

Jughead parted her thighs, kissed the inside of each of them, then spread her open with his fingers exhaled. As his warm breath ghosted across her wet skin, she arched toward his mouth. 

 

“You’re so wet,” He said and leaned forward to feather tiny kisses around her groin, teasing her, then dragged a finger through the slick pool at her entrance and licked it clean. 

 

Betty should have been embarrassed, being so open and exposed, but as his worshipful gaze traveled down the curves of her body the words died in her mouth.

 

He licked a stripe across her center, stopping to circle her clit with the very tip of his tongue. “Did I make you wet?”

 

“Yes.” Betty was panting with anticipation, she didn’t want to rush him, but the wait was starting to erode her sanity. “I’m wet for you. Jug, please touch me.”

 

His lips grazed her skin, barely making contact and she drove her hips up toward his face.

 

Jughead pulled back and snickered at her failed attempt to reach his mouth. “God, I love it when you get needy.”

 

His leaned forward again and pressed his tongue against Betty’s center, she bucked her pelvis, catching him off guard and smearing herself across his lips and chin. 

 

He smirked at her, then licked his lips and kissed her softly between the legs. “I’m not just going to fuck you tonight,” His hands pinned her hips to the bed, forcing her to behave. “We are making love.”

 

“Then do it,” She prompted, feeling frustrated, her legs shaking against his restraint. “No more teasing. I want your cum.”

 

“Oh, Betty.” Jughead scrambled to release her body and she helped push his boxers down to his ankles with her feet. He took himself into his hand and paused at her entrance to brush his cock against her clit. 

 

She kissed him thoroughly and widened her thighs, sighing against his lips as he pressed just the head of his cock inside of her. He rocked shallowly into her, never going deeper, his cock pushing into her most sensitive places. “Oh god, no, don’t go any deeper. Stay right there!”

 

Betty knitted their hands together, then held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut to keep herself from falling apart so soon. He angled himself up and pressed in again, just the tip.

 

Jughead’s face was buried in her neck, his 5 o’clock shadow rasping against her skin as he shook from the effort of holding himself back. “I’m going to cum embarrassingly quickly like this, baby.”

 

Betty thought about him filling her up, about him leaving a part of himself inside of her, and the idea had her gasping loudly in his ear. “Oh fuck. I’m so close. Cum in me, do it. I want you to.”

 

“God, yes. ”Jughead pushed eagerly into her, with so much force he immediately bottomed out with a guttural groan. 

 

“Fuck,” Betty’s arousal dripped down her thigh as he began to thrust his hips against hers. She wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her hips to match his rhythm. Neither one of them was going to last long at this rate, but she’d never been more turned on in her life. “Come on, Jug. Cum in me. I want you to fill me up.”

 

He released her hands to grab her face instead, then kissed her hard and long, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth and biting down.

 

Betty moaned as she fell apart beneath him, trembling like she had the chills. “Fill me up, Jug,” She whispered breathlessly, still in a daze. “I want you to make me drip.”

 

”Baby…fuck!” Jughead came a moment later, thrusting through his release as he spilled inside of her, pulsing in spurts.

 

They were both overheated and slippery with sweat, their bodies sticking together like warm vinyl, too weak to move.

 

“Holy shit,” Jughead said on an exhale, and they both were reduced to laughter. “I think you broke me., I’m numb from the waist down. We may need to cancel the hijinks for tomorrow if I don’t regain the use of my legs.”

 

He pulled out of her with a melodramatic whimper, both wincing as he slid free, then he blindly reached across the mattress for her hand. 

 

Betty let him take it then shifted her head to the juncture between his shoulder and chest, careful not to jostle herself so she wouldn’t drip out on the sheets. She took a moment to catch her breath and kissed the side of his neck. “So…that was a kink I was unaware I had.”

 

His free hand slid between her thighs and he dipped two of his fingers into the wet mess leaking out of her, pushing it back in along with his fingers. “That makes two of us.”

 

She was oversensitive and damp, but the easy slide of his fingers filling her made her desire flare up once again.

 

He mouthed at the column of her throat, pausing briefly to gently bite her jugular vein. “One day I’m going to keep you tied to my bed and just fill you with my cum, over and over, and you’ll just lie there and take it. Would you like that?”

 

“Yes.” Betty gasped at the drag of his fingers, then turned and set her teeth into his collarbone. “Jesus, I want it. Yes.”

 

“You’ll be so full of me you’ll be dripping with it, but you’re going to be a good girl and keep me inside of you, you’re not going to let one drop fall, are you, baby?” Jughead’s voice was hoarse as he grabbed a handful of her hair and wrapped it around his hand. “Answer me.”

 

“I’ll be so good for you, Juggie, I promise.” A shiver ran down her spine at the order and she let her thighs fall farther apart as he drove his fingers into her faster, adding a third. “God, I’m so full.”

 

“You were made for me.” His face creased with emotion as he kissed her hard on every part of her face. “I love you. I love you. I’ll never love anybody else.”

 

Tears welled in Betty’s eyes as his thumb bumped up against her clit and she started the climb toward that elusive high, her back arching off the mattress. “I’m almost there.”

 

He pressed their foreheads together and doubled his efforts, swallowing her moans as she shuddered to completion around his fingers, her mouth stretched wide in a silent yell.

 

* * *

 

 

Betty adjusted the fit on Jughead’s flak jacket one last time before buttoning his dress shirt over it. She smoothed her hands down the front of his chest making sure the blood squib was sewn securely into his pocket. “The remote trigger is in the pocket of your jacket, but if it doesn’t go off for some reason, you can activate it with blunt force.”

 

“This is the fifth time we’ve gone over this.” He pulled his vest on and she grabbed him by the edges of it, tugging him closer. 

 

Looking at him in the bulletproof vest, she couldn’t help but notice all the points of vulnerability, the many locations he could still be hit. Betty tamped down the urge to throw up. “Humor me.”

 

As he took in her expression, Jughead’s face softened and he leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Always.”

 

Cheryl, clad in an inappropriately low-cut maroon jumper scattered with inlaid crystal beads, tapped one shiny disco shoe on the marble floor. “He’s going to die of old age if you take any longer with that, Agent Orange.”

 

Betty exhaled and ran her hands down Jughead’s form one more time, his body solid and warm under her fingers. “He’s ready.”

 

Jughead cupped sides of her face and they looked at each other, the weight of too many unsaid things left between them, then kissed her with finality. “We’ve got this.”

 

“We do.” Betty forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Now, get your grown male ass out there so you can ogle little girls in ball gowns and judge them on their sexual attractiveness.”

 

“How is this still legal?” Jughead pulled a disgusted face and looked at Cheryl for an answer.

 

“It’s Blossom tradition,” Cheryl sniffed, hand swirling in the air as if exalting the concept.

 

Jughead's frown deepened. “Yeah, so is incest, but that doesn’t seem to be on the docket for today.”

 

Toni stepped between the two before things could turn physical. “Okay kids, time to take your places before the festivities start.”

 

Jughead shot Betty one last, longing look and followed Cheryl toward the pageant tent.

 

“We’ve got his back, Girlfriend Betty, don’t you worry,” Toni reminded Betty, before running out after them.

 

Toni was great, but Betty was still worried.

 

* * *

 

 

Malachai was leaning against the side of a food vendors van, casually eating a maple sugar covered churro, as if this were like any other day. Betty realized that to him, it probably was. It was odd how one day could mean so much to one person and pass another by without a thought.

 

Betty was wearing the outfit Veronica forced her into for her first trip to the Whyte Wyrm, and it made her feel just as self-conscious the second time around.

 

As Malachai noticed her approaching, he gawked at her, his churro dropping to the ground mid-bite. “Holeeey shit.”

 

“Whatever you’re about to say or do, just  _don’t_ ,” Betty warned him with the kind of glare that could ignite a brush fire. “I assume Penny isn’t here yet?”

 

Malachai licked his fingers slowly as his eyes did a slow tour of her body. “Not yet.”

 

Sighing, Betty pressed a gun loaded with blanks into his dry hand. “You aim and point, just like any other gun…I assume you’re familiar with guns?”

 

He rolled his eyes and shoved the weapon into the liner of his leather jacket. “Hope you’re better at living up to your agreements than your boy toy.”

 

“The drag race wasn’t his play, Malachai. I think you know that by now.”

 

Malachai shrugged and shook a hand through his curls. “Don’t matter who did the fucking up, it was on his watch. I just want to make sure your friends aren’t as reckless as his buddies were because I’m not really interested in doing another stint at Shankshaw.”

 

“I’m a professional,” She reminded him.

 

He smirked at her, his gaze once again lowering to her bare legs. “You sure do look like a professional, I’ll give you that.”

 

Betty held back the urge to punch him in the face. “Let’s just go to the meeting point, okay? Follow my lead and no going rogue.”

 

“You this bossy in bed?” Malachai held his hands aloft and led the way.

 

* * *

 

 

When they got to the designated park bench, Penny was already seated, two henchmen lingering conspicuously nearby amongst the families attending the fair. She wasn’t at all what Betty had expected. Penny was rough around the edges, of course, her hard life hidden in the folds of her premature wrinkles, but she could almost pass for a white-collar professional, for the lawyer she once was. The woman was certainly not like any other drug czar Betty had come across in the past. 

 

Penny looked up as Malachai approached, giving Betty a double-take. Her goons reached for their guns, but Penny held a hand out to steady them as she assessed the situation.

 

“We agreed you were coming alone, Malachai. What the fuck is she doing here?” Penny asked, looking far more miffed than wary. “This wasn’t what we discussed.”

 

Betty had to hand it to her, she wasn’t very easily shaken.

 

Malachai slipped an arm around Betty’s waist and pulled her body flush against his. “Aw, counselor, you didn’t expect me to leave my girl home on such a beautiful afternoon, did you?”

 

“I don’t appreciate surprises.” Penny’s gaze traveled between them. “Particularly when they involve you bringing uninvited guests….unless she’s here as some form of collateral?” Her mood visibly picked up at the possibility.

 

Betty decided to intervene, tired of being talked about in the third person. “Collateral?” She looked at Malachai and frowned. “I thought you said she was smart?”

 

Penny's spine lengthened at the jibe and her head turned to Malachai. “Tell your bitch to watch her mouth or I’ll watch it for her.”

 

Betty took a step forward and Malachai’s grip tightened on her hips. “Come on, Snake Charmer, you came all this way.” He shot Penny a charming smile. “Don’t you want to hear what we have to say?” 

 

After a long, silent minute, Penny gestured to the bench with her chin. “Fine, but she doesn’t touch this bench.”

 

Malachai took the spot next to Penny and pulled Betty into his lap, circumventing the rules. “This is Betty.”

 

Penny rolled her eyes and scowled. “I know who she is, idiot. She’s fucking Jughead Jones. Now, how about you tell me why the fuck you would bring her here? Is this your dramatic way of telling me she’s a Ghoulie?”

 

“More like...Ghoulie-adjacent.” Betty wrapped an arm around Malachai’s shoulders, his jacket creaking under the weight of her hand.

 

Penny addressed Malachai as if Betty hadn’t just spoken. “She’s literally sleeping with the enemy, why on Earth would I listen to a thing she has to say?” 

 

Malachai slid a hand up the inside of Betty’s thigh then turned and licked the length of her neck, forcing Betty to fight off her gag reflex. This was definitely over the physical limits they discussed earlier, and if the wicked glint in Malachai’s eyes were anything to go by, he was just getting started. 

 

If they made it out of this alive, she was going to kill him.

 

“She’s been riding my pony the last few months, too, Penny Lane. Heard from my man, Tall Boy, you were planning something big and I thought I’d make myself useful…kiss the ring, so to speak,” Malachai said with a flourished hand gesture.

 

At first, Penny looked genuinely surprised, though she quickly became suspicious. “Tall Boy talked to you about my business? And you just took it upon yourself to send her to Jones for no fucking reason?”

 

“You should know by now I’ve always got a reason. Can’t hurt to have an inside man, right? It wasn’t too hard, I mean, who could say no to this?” Malachai’s hand slapped the inside of Betty’s thigh like she was a prized cut of meat and Betty jerked from the physical shock. “Figured there might come a time you needed a favor, and it’s never a bad thing when somebody big owes you big.”

 

Penny looked down at where Malachai’s hand was inching precariously close to Betty’s crotch and snorted. “Never knew you to share your toys, Malachai….and with someone like Jones.”

 

“He’s a shut-in, Penny. He probably hasn’t seen a naked girl for years, definitely not one like this. She barely had to touch him to get his rocks off.” Malachai turned and kissed Betty, catching her off guard, then looked wildly into her eyes. “What Betty and I have transcends the physical.”

 

Betty grabbed the ends of Malachai’s chains and twisted them playfully around her hand, sending him a subtle warning. “Oh, I don’t know, Kai, I like it when we get physical.” She jerked his chains sharply, getting his attention. 

 

Malachai nervously cleared his throat and turned back to Penny. “Betty is still earning her stripes, so she’s at your service. What do you need her to do?”

 

Penny looked Betty over. “What can she do...besides the obvious?”

 

“Betty is good with her hands in more ways than one,” Malachai said, eyes cutting to Betty suggestively. “Tall Boy said you wanted to torture the guy?”

 

At the mention of Jughead getting hurt, Betty's hands curled into fists and she tried to calm herself by thinking of puppies.

 

“Tall Boy must’ve missed that memo because he tried to off the guy. I heard about that stunt you pulled for him back at Pop’s. Why should I trust you now?” Penny arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“He ain’t dead is he?” Malachai opened his arms and looked around. “Betty saw to that.”

 

Penny stroked her chin and assessed Betty more seriously this time. “You’re saying you double-crossed Tall Boy by having this one here save him?”

 

“I poisoned the guy with cyanide!” Malachai practically screamed, as if they weren’t in a public square. “Not exactly something you bounce back from unless you’re expecting it and can come prepared. I knew you didn’t want him dead yet. Figured you might appreciate the intervention.”

 

Penny tipped her head side to side and crossed her legs at the ankles. “I did, but I’m getting a little tired of the game. Between the shooting and the poison, the feds are likely to get involved, if they’re not already. I don’t need that kind of heat.”

 

This was exactly what Betty had banked on, though she was relieved to be proven right. Penny was nothing if not shrewd and would realize Jughead was now more trouble than he was worth to her.

 

Malachai leaned forward and Betty struggled to keep her balance on his lap. “I can take care of that for you if you’re interested.”

 

Penny pursed her lips in thought. “What have I done to earn this act of charitable kindness, Ziggy Stardust?”

 

“I’m not exactly known for my kindness. You know exactly what I want.” Malachai leaned back against the bench and waited for Penny to respond.

 

“How much?” Penny asked.

 

“How much was Tall Boy’s cut?” He volleyed back.

 

“30%,” She said.

 

“Great,” Malachai looked at Betty and smiled. “We’ll take 50%.”

 

Penny scoffed and crossed her arms. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Malachai’s entire demeanor changed from jovial to deadly serious on the turn off a dime. “I mean, I could always rat you out to the feds and take 100%.”

 

“You wouldn’t.” Penny leveled him with a glare.

 

Malachai grinned and addressed Betty. “I got rid of my last partner, didn’t I?”

 

Betty was honestly impressed with Malachai’s level of game and cupped the side of his face in her hand. “Yes, you did, sweetie.”

 

Penny leaned in and lowered her voice to a growl. “Careful, Malachai. Pigs get fed. Hogs get slaughtered.”

 

“Slaughtered?” Malachai smirked and shrugged his shoulders, as carefree as ever. “Now, that sounds like a threat. I don’t think you want the entire force of the Ghoulies coming down on you, so you might want to try again.”

 

Penny cursed under her breath and threw up her hands. “Clearly you have me over a barrel, so the terms are yours. You get rid of Jones for me, and I’ll get you your 50%.”

 

“Deal!” Malachai planted a celebratory kiss on Betty. “I can even do it today if you want? He’s working this event.”

 

“The sooner the better,” Penny said, her mood now soured.

 

“What about the old man?” Malachai asked, referring to F. P.

 

“I think killing his only son is a better form of torture than anything else any of us could have possibly cooked up. That kid was always F. P.’s pride and joy.” Penny grinned maliciously, looking genuinely happy for the first time during their meeting. 

 

A frigid wind tore through the park, leaving Betty with a rash of goosebumps.

 

“You know,” Penny looked Betty in the eyes. “If Jones were to have his heart-broken just before he died, that would really be icing on the cake for me.”

 

Betty felt like pushing this woman’s face into the ground until she stopped breathing, but instead, she carefully nodded. “That can definitely be arranged.”

 

As Penny walked off, Betty glanced at the cameras hidden high amongst the treetops and hoped the mics she’d planted on her body picked up the audio clearly.

 

* * *

 

 

A gaggle of seven-year-olds wearing sequined ball gowns lined up outside of the tent, their mothers excitedly primping them until the last moment before entering.

 

Betty strolled into the venue holding Malachai’s hand, her eyes brushing over Jughead, who was looking miserable sandwiched between Hermione Lodge and Mayor McCoy. She noticed Penny leaning against a tree, just behind the last row of chairs, arms crossed with impatience.

 

“What was that shit you pulled back with Penny?” Betty asked Malachai through a placid smile, as he dragged her toward a less crowded aisle of the audience.

 

Malachai chuckled as he ducked into a sparsely populated row. “You’ve had health class, haven’t you? Pretty sure you know what that was.”

 

Betty shook his grip off and held him by the shoulders in a seemingly affectionate hold while driving her fingertips into the soft cartilage around Malachai’s rotator cuff, causing him to grimace. “You had your fun, and now you’re done. Our agreement doesn’t include you trying to slip me a finger while I’m trying to entrap a perp.”

 

He smiled and eased into the nearest chair. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, darlin'.’”

 

She turned her head as if looking for witnesses, then sat down next to him. “Yeah, I definitely can.”

 

Betty watched as Cheryl introduced a parade of girls, stopping to ask each one of them what they loved best about the maple tree. Jughead sunk lower in his chair, a black hole of discontentment breaching a sea of rhinestone and glitter.

 

His eyes skipped over the audience then landed on Betty’s face and his lips curled up into a smile. A few more hours and they could be together, unencumbered by death threats and FBI departmental politics. When this was all over, she would turn in her badge and find a small cabin for them to hide from the rest of the world in. They could spend a few weeks just marinating in their feelings as she sorted out her career and general mess of a life.

 

Jughead brought his hand to his chest, covertly tapping two fingers over his heart and Betty echoed the gesture.

 

“Aww, you guys are fucking adorable,” Malachai cooed in a simpering tone, then put his arm around Betty’s shoulders and tugged her close, making a big show of it.

 

Jughead’s eyes averted to the ground and Betty could see his jaw tensing hard from yards away. 

 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” She grumbled, worrying that Jughead’s nerves were affecting his mental state.

 

There was a big difference between knowing your girlfriend would be playing another man’s lover and actually watching the man paw her with entitlement. It would be excruciating if she were in his shoes, even worse if she knew she’d be required to act out her own death moments later.

 

“…and let’s give a big round of applause for all of our beautiful contestants! There will be a 15-minute break while our judges deliberate over who will be crowned the next Little Miss Maple!” Cheryl cheered into the microphone, earning a scowl from Jughead. She found Betty in the audience and winked before returning to her podium.

 

Betty clapped her hands slowly along with the audience as the moment of truth grew nearer. She was a few minutes away from dumping Jughead publicly, triggering the altercation that would ‘end his life’. No doubt, they would be traumatizing a group of seven-year-olds in the process.

 

Audience members began to mill about, lingering near their seats.

 

“I believe that’s our cue, pookie.” Malachai angled his head toward the stage, his body language as apprehensive as hers.

 

Betty took a deep breath and nodded, attempting to quell the surge of nausea brewing in the pit of her stomach. 

 

They strolled toward the front of the stage, arms around waists, hands buried deep in the each other’s back pockets. Jughead looked up as they closed the distance, his hands white-knuckling the edge of the table.

 

Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs were off in search of Penny and her goons.

 

Betty stopped in her tracks to wipe her clammy hands on the front of her shorts, then turned to Malachai, affecting a look of devotion. She cradled his face as his hands fell to her hips, jerking her close. “Do not slip me the tongue unless you want Jughead to rip it out of your mouth,” She warned him through gritted teeth.

 

Malachai threw his head back and laughed like she’d just told him the funniest joke in the world. “Your loss, baby.”

 

His hand moved up to her neck, thumb jutting into the underside of her jaw to angle her chin up. “Showtime,” He whispered, then pressed their lips together in a display of lust so messy and lurid, nearby mothers covered their children’s eyes. 

 

So much for not slipping her the tongue. At least Betty knew the fight would look real because Jughead was probably aching to give Malachai the beatdown of his life.

 

“What the hell?” Jughead rose to his feet, violently knocking his chair over in the process. “Betty?”

 

Betty’s head picked up at her name and she tried to pull back from Malachai’s hands, which were now busy kneading her ass. “Jug?”

 

Jughead’s face could have been a study in the stages of fury. 

 

Hermoine, who sat next to him, looked positively scandalized and tried to grab his arm. “You’re dating Betty? Ronnie never said a thing!”

 

“Not anymore!” Jughead snapped and leapt from the stage to the grass below.

 

“Shit,” Malachai mumbled under his breath. “He looks really pissed.”

 

“I warned you,” Betty said, musically, nearly breathless at the possessive look in his eyes as Jughead strode across the fairgrounds, hands clenched into fists.

 

Betty had never seen Malachai look so genuinely afraid. 

 

Without preamble, Jughead grabbed Malachai by the lapels and shoved him against a nearby tree. 

 

“Woah!” Malachai said, attempting to placate his attacker. “I barely even touched her.”

 

“You were a flaming bag of shit way back when I was a teenager and I’m going to finally stamp you out.” Jughead jerked Malachai forward then slammed his back hard against the tree once again.

 

Malachai grabbed Jughead’s arms for purchase and growled in his face. “You do remember how this is supposed to end, don’t you, Jones? You die.”

 

Jughead pressed Malachai against a knot on the tree truck, forcing it into Malachai’s spine. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun before I go.”

 

Malachai hissed from the pain. “Dude! I’m sorry, take it easy. I was just having a little fun with your girl.”

 

“Nobody has fun with my girl but me.” Jughead punched Malachai in the jaw so hard a bruise began to form instantly. 

 

Betty should have been disgusted at the level of male toxicity taking place over her, but she couldn’t deny the heated look in her boyfriend’s eyes was making her squirm.

 

As Jughead pulled his arm back to hit Malachai again, Betty grabbed it in mid-air. “Don’t. You drag this out any longer and people are going to start to wonder why security hasn’t shown up yet.” 

 

Jughead’s arm lifted further and his bicep went rigid beneath her hand. “I can live with that,” He said and slammed his fist into Malachai’s cheekbone.

 

Betty quickly ducked in front of Malachai, placing herself between them, and Jughead reluctantly lowered his hand. “Betty…”

 

Betty wanted to hold Jughead in her arms, to kiss him until he’d forgotten everything he’d seen, but this had to go according to plan. She took a deep breath and held his gaze. “Can’t you take a hint, Jughead? I don’t want you anymore. You were fun while it lasted, but somebody like me could never end up with a loser like you.”

 

Jughead blanched as if struck and took a step back. “I—”

 

During Jughead's moment of distraction, Malachai took the opportunity to slide out from behind Betty and pull his gun. “Your old man was a joke and the apple don’t fall far from the tree.”

 

Jughead lunged around Betty to get to Malachai and the gun went off, triggering a pool of crimson blood to bloom across Jughead’s chest.

 

A young woman in the audience shrieked prompting a baby to begin crying. The fairground devolved into utter mayhem, people shouting at each other and running for cover.

 

Jughead fell lifeless to the ground and Betty looked up to gauge Penny’s reaction. The older woman smirked, a deep satisfaction written on her features, then turned to stroll away.

 

Toni had gotten caught up in the chaos, a throng of people physically forcing her back. Fangs managed to get close enough to grab the collar of one of Penny’s henchmen, and they fell to the ground in a tussle. Sweet Pea easily subdued the other goon, elbowing him in the nose before pressing his face into the dirt.

 

Penny barely spared a glance for her men before walking away. 

 

Betty hovered over Jughead, pressing her flannel into his ‘wound’ to stave off the bleeding. She looked up at Cheryl helplessly, who also seemed to notice Toni had been swept away by the crowd leaving Penny unguarded.

 

Cheryl pulled something large from behind her podium and held it in the air - a bow and arrow -  then closed one eye as she pulled the bow taut, aiming it at Penny’s retreating form.

 

Betty leapt to her feet, leaving Malachai to deal with Jughead. Whatever Cheryl had planned had the potential to injure innocent bystanders. She shouted Cheryl’s name to stop her, but the woman had already released the arrow. Betty watched through parted fingers as the arrow cut an arc through the air and sunk effortlessly into the back of Penny’s thigh, sending the woman tumbling to the ground in agony.

 

“What the fuck?” Malachai exclaimed, hands covered in both fake and real blood. “That is some fucked up ‘Spartacus’ shit!”

 

Cheryl shot Betty a smug smile and shrugged her shoulders. “Mommy gave me a choice between this and learning how to play the oboe. I picked archery…I wanted stronger fingers.”

 

Betty was about to take off to stop Penny, but Officer Keller and his men beat her to the pass, cuffing the woman from behind as two EMTs started to treat her leg wound. Betty sank to her knees in the grass, her body heavy with relief.

 

“Betty!” Malachai shouted, pulling her attention. “Can I stop pretending to give your man CPR now?”

 

Betty began to crawl across the ground toward the pair on hands and knees.

 

Jughead sat up and immediately punched Malachai in the face, catching him off guard. “That’s for poisoning me, you asshole!”

 

Malachai shrugged and wiped the blood from his split lip on his sleeve. “Yeah, okay, that one I deserved.”

 

Betty threw her arms around Jughead nearly topping them both over with the force of the embrace. 

 

“Did we get her?” Jughead asked, his hands framing her face as he looked her over for injuries.

 

“We did,” Betty glanced at Cheryl, who was sitting on the edge of the judge’s dais, legs crossed, examining her manicure. “Well, she did actually. Did you know Cheryl was an Olympic level archer? That detail made absolutely no appearance on your murder board.”

 

Jughead’s brows raised in surprise at the information. “I’m beginning to see what Toni sees in her.”

 

Malachai squatted down next to them, ignoring Jughead’s presence. “We still have a deal, right?”

 

Betty nodded. “You can have the run of Riverdale, but I catch you spreading around the hard stuff - even one stick of Jingle-Jangle - and the deal is over. Got it?”

 

“I’m the only game in town now, I don’t really need to diversify my product line to make a killing...pun intended.” Malachai placed a hand on her shoulder. “You ever get sick of getting dicked by this loser, you give me a call.”

 

Betty pressed a hand to Jughead’s chest to keep him in check, “Not even if the future of entire human species depended it on it, but thanks for the offer.” 

 

Malachai winked and disappeared into the thinning crowd, leaving Betty and Jughead sitting on the grass.

 

“Did that actually happen or did I just dream it?” Betty slumped against Jughead, folding herself into his arms. They were both covered in fake blood now, the sticky glucose mix hardening uncomfortably against their skin. “It’s weird he’s a real person.”

 

Jughead hand covered the side of her head and he clasped her to his chest. “Well, he _really_ had his tongue down your throat.”

 

“Nobody has fun with my girl but me!” Betty quoted, in a mocking tone, and giggled at Jughead’s horrified reaction.

 

Jughead groaned and buried his face in her hair. “I can’t believe those words exited my mouth, baby. I’m so sorry.”

 

Betty pulled back and held his face in her hands. “I probably would’ve said something just as ridiculous if some woman had been pawing you.”

 

His eyes tipped up at her, full of teasing intent. “Is that right?”

 

“That’s right.” She kissed him softly, rubbing the tip of her nose against his cheek. “Are you okay? You seemed a little, I don’t know, upset when I was fake breaking up with you.”

 

Jughead shook his head and took her hands in his. “There was a second there when you told me somebody like you could never be with somebody like me, and it felt like all of my worst fears coming true. But, then I looked into your eyes and I was fine because I know how we feel about each other. I know what’s real.”

 

“Knowing I love you is pretty much the only certainty I have left right now in my life.” Betty bit her bottom lip and gazed down at their intertwined hands.

 

Jughead reached for her face and brushed his thumb along her cheekbone before tilting her chin up to look at him. “You don’t have to worry about everything right now, Betty. We’ve got nothing but time.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I promised you an epilogue and you WILL get it. Just hit subscribe button or check back here over the next week or two and something should appear. I've majorly put off a paper due this evening, but I really really wanted you to have this ASAP.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you felt everything wrapped up in a satisfying way. You have all been so wonderful and you have no idea how much I appreciate the support I've been given throughout. I have the best readers ever and would like to send a special thanks to everybody who added this fic to their rec blogs on Tumblr. It has been murder *wink* getting people to read this, and your mentions really have helped with the foot traffic.
> 
> As usual, if you have the time and energy, I would love to hear your opinions in the comments section.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've got the time, please let me know what you think! Feedback is gold.


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